Cursed Rose
by The Lorelei
Summary: A modern day re-telling of Beauty and the Beast. I updated! Omg! In Chapter Eight, Meg has her first magic lesson. Oo
1. Chapter One

A/N: As you already know if you read the summary, this is a modern-day retelling of Beauty and the Beast. It's rated R for adult themes, mostly in the first two chapters, and bad language throughout. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, so I decided to write this to try and fix what was wrong with the original tale (plus it just demanded to be written, ya know?). Anyways, I'm done rambling now…I think.

Oh, and don't forget to be nice and review. ^_^ I appreciate every review I get…really I do.

The wooden spoon descended, landing between Meg's shoulder blades with an impact that sent her sprawling. The plate of warm chocolate chip cookies fell to the floor and broke, sending broken pieces of glass everywhere as it shattered. Her hand landed atop one of the pieces as she fell and cut into it, and she winced as she felt blood trickle across her palm.

"Now look what you've done, you lazy bitch!" Ms. Hodges snarled, raising the spoon for another blow. Meg brought up one arm in a half-hearted attempt to block it, and the blow fell not against the side of her head as it had been intended, but against her arm, sending it slamming back into her ear.

She curled up into a ball, preparing herself for more blows, but they didn't come. Instead, Ms. Hodges merely snarled and stalked off, muttering under her breath. "Clean it up!" she snapped, looking over her shoulder as she left through the door to her room, most likely to inject herself with massive doses of cocaine.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Meg climbed to her feet, managing to avoid the rest of the pieces of glass. Looking at the mess of the cookies she had worked so hard to make, she felt tears spring to her eyes, but shoved them down relentlessly. Grabbing the broom and dustpan leaning up against the kitchen wall, she began to sweep the pieces of glass and cookie crumbs into the dustpan, depositing them at last inside the large trashcan.

Walking back out into the main room of the small excuse for an orphanage, she nearly ran straight into Jack Perrison. He didn't beat on her as she expected, but instead merely pinched her hip savagely, grinning at her. "Where's my cookies, darlin'?" he drawled at her, breathing into her face.

Smelling beer fumes on his breath, she winced. "I dropped 'em 'cause Ms. Hodges was bein' a bitch," she told him shortly, trying to make her way around him unobtrusively. Jack Perrison wasn't a good person to mess with when he was drunk, especially if you were young and female.

"She's always a bitch," Jack replied, maneuvering so that he was blocking her again. Grinning drunkenly at her, he slung an arm around her shoulders. "You promised me cookies, an' I think I oughta get _somethin'_, don't you, darlin'?"

Meg winced. _I haven't promised him anything, and I'm nobody's "darlin'," much less Jack Perrison's. _

"I'll make cookies another day," she said vaguely, ducking under his arm. He tried to swing at her, but couldn't see clearly and missed, tripping over one of Melissa's toy cars and falling into the stone-hard mattress that served him for a bed.

"Ya leave Jack alone, girl," Paul called from across the room, despite the fact that Jack had been the one disturbing her. "He's so stoned he couldn' tell shit from shinola."

This got a laugh from Betsy, but Branwyn simply walked by and hit Paul lightly in the back of the head. "Yep, and that's why he looks in the mirror and thinks he looks beautiful," she said amicably. "Jack was the one messin' with our Meg, so you jest shut yer mouth an' keep quiet."

Meg smiled in relief; Branwyn, with her uncontrollable black hair and never-ending faith in Wicca, was her only friend in this hellhole she lived in. Meg didn't see how Branwyn managed to keep faith in _anything_, living here, but somehow she managed it. It was a good thing, too, for the others tended to leave her alone, probably in fear that she might put a spell on them or curse them if they pissed her off.

Meg sighed, looking around her at the small, barren room in which she and the other five spent their days and nights. There were ten small, hard mattresses in this room, five on each side of the room, on which they were intended to sleep. The front room was cluttered with toys, clothes, and God only knew what else--no one ever bothered to clean up after themselves here. Meg was the only one that ever even kept things in her backpack, and she did it to keep them safe.

The only other rooms in the 'orphanage' were the tiny kitchen and the largest room in the house, the bedroom where Ms. Hodges, their 'caretaker,' slept and took male companionship when she had it. Why they even bothered to call it an orphanage, and to pretend someone might come adopt them one day, Meg didn't know; no one had ever even visited here in years.

As for Ms. Hodges' title as caretaker, _that_ was rankest folly. The 'kids' were the only ones that ever cooked--generally Meg or Branwyn, since Melissa was too little and the others too anal-retentive to help out. The best care Ms. Hodges ever took of them was to beat them with her trademark wooden spoon, generally followed by retreating to her bedroom to inject herself with cocaine or whatever other recreational drugs she might be trying this week.

As for the other 'kids,' the only ones she even liked were Branwyn and Melissa. Melissa was only seven, too little to constantly indulge in drugs, sex, and alcohol, like all the others except Branwyn did. The little blonde girl had adopted Meg as her older sister and surrogate mother almost as soon as she had come here, to which Meg didn't object. She liked the younger girl; it was nice to know there was _someone_ here retaining some shred of innocence.

The others certainly didn't. Jack and Paul were rejects from another orphanage, a couple of large, burly seventeen-year-olds that had gotten in trouble for sleeping with the girls at the orphanage, some of them as young as Melissa. Somehow, they had ended up coming here, which they certainly thought was good luck; they could chase the girls around as much as they wanted, and Ms. Hodges certainly wouldn't care.

Betsy served as their playtoy most of the time; at just-turned-fifteen, she was blonde, big-chested, and beautiful, and had been working as a hooker for several years before somehow ending up here. The exact circumstances of how she ended up coming here, Meg didn't know, and had never cared enough to find out.

It was amazing that she actually managed to stay both a virgin and completely straight, Meg reflected, sinking down onto her pallet with a sigh. As far as she knew, Branwyn was the only other one there besides Melissa who fit both those requirements. Branwyn said it was because of her faith in Wicca; not only had she sworn never to use drugs, but the others were afraid to mess with her.

Well, it wasn't that easy for Meg, that was for sure. She had barely evaded the boys' overly warm advances a time or two, and had generally only succeeded because they were drunk, stoned, or both. As far as drugs went, most of the time she wasn't tempted. Sometimes, though, when life had been treating her particularly bad, when the boys lit up a joint and the too-sweet scent of pot drifted over to her nostrils, she was tempted to go join them, and smoke herself into oblivion.

She had never quite given in, though, mostly for fear of what the boys might do to her if she ever let herself drift away into that state of euphoria. With a sigh, she grabbed for her bookbag, rooting through her few treasured possessions that she wanted kept safe. She dug past her teddy bear, which she had to keep hidden--even Branwyn would have laughed at her for that, but she had had the thing for ten years, and couldn't manage to sleep without it.

Her hand landed upon the spiral notebook that served as her journal, and she pulled it out, digging for her pen and taking it as well. Her journal the others knew about, and didn't see why she kept it. If she had ever told them that she kept it so that she could escape from the harsh reality of life in the orphanage when she wrote, they would have laughed at her. They already laughed at her enough as it was, with her frizzy brown hair, glasses, and tall, skinny gangliness.

Taking up the pen, she chewed on the end of it, trying to think how best to continue the next chapter of the ongoing adventure contained in her journal. It wasn't a journal as much as a novel, but when she wrote, she was able to become her character, in a way she couldn't explain.

Closing her eyes, she put her pen to paper and began to write.

__

The Lady Bethany ran through the forest, bare feet silently skimming over the fallen autumn leaves. Her court dress, light blue silk with patterns embroidered in white, sleeves of a white, gauzy, floaty material, wound about her legs, tripping her. Falling to her hands and knees, she grimaced, waving her blonde hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. Rising again, she continued to run.

Her uncle, the ruthless Count DuTare, followed, intent upon capturing Bethany and using her for his own purposes. What purposes, she knew only part of, which was to drain her of her inherent magic power to use it for himself. As for his other purposes, she did not know, but was fairly certain she wouldn't survive with her virginity intact.

The sound of hoofbeats behind her alerted her to another pursuer. Turning, she gasped in surprise and delight, feeling her heart warm as Sir Eric tir Valon galloped up behind the Count, unsheathing his sword as he rode.

Eric's sword swung downwards, singing as it cut through the air to remove the evil Count's head from his shoulders. The knight turned his horse, halting the valiant steed and dismounting, turning at once to Bethany.

"Are you all right, milady?" he asked, worry in his warm voice.

"Perfectly all right, sir," she gasped, feeling breathless as a warm smile lit up his handsome features. Taking a step, her foot snagged upon a tree root, and she fell into his arms.

"We must still worry about the evil mage yon Count was working for," the brave knight told her. "But for now--" He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her warmly, tasting delicately of her sweet mou

Meg let out an involuntary cry of protest as her journal was snatched from her hands, Paul turning it around to inspect it interestedly. "What's this, girly?" he drawled, beginning to read the first few lines, lips moving as he did so.

"That's mine!" she protested, snatching at it in vain. "Give it back, that's _mine_, dammit!"

"Well, well, well, this _is _interesting," the bigger boy sneered. "Listen to this, you guys! 'The Lady Bethany ran through the forest, bare feet silently ski--ski--"

"Skimming," she snapped, leaping to her feet. "Give that _back_, you overgrown son of a bitch!" Snatching at it, she managed to get it from his grasp, but the page tore as she did so.

He grinned, darting effectively just out of her reach and continuing to read the bottom line. "'He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her warmly, tasting delicately of her sweet mouth--' What's this, darlin', whatcha been wantin' me an' Jack to do to you?"

"No, asshole, it's called a stor--" she started, but Jack, unnoticed, had crept up behind her. Leering, he grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back. "Let _go_ of me, dammit!"

"Not 'till you get what you deserve, darlin'," Paul drawled, tossing aside the ripped piece of paper and advancing menacingly. Before she so much as had a chance to move, he kissed her, his tongue shoving its way into her mouth.

Biting down as hard as she could on his tongue, she brought her knee up into his crotch at the same time. He backed off with a yelp of pain, and she managed to wrestle her arms free from Jack's grip. Resisting the urge to puke from the disgusting, lingering taste of Paul in her mouth, she turned and swung, punching Jack in the nose.

He yelped, head jerking back to bang into the wall. She tried to turn, but Paul grabbed her, one arm pinning her arms to her sides, the other clasped against her mouth. She bit down on his hand viciously; he yelped, dropping his hand from her mouth.

He didn't put it back, so she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that Branwyn, wherever she had gotten off to, would hear and come help. She tried to wrestle her arms free, but he succeeded in dragging her over to the corner of the room where his cot sat and throwing her down on top of it. She started to get up, but he hit her, bashing her head against the wall, and shoved one of his dirty socks in her mouth to shut her up.

She gagged and started to yank the sock out of her mouth, but he grabbed her arms, rolling her over on her stomach and pinning her arms underneath him. Panting heavily, he started to tear at her clothes, trying to figure out how to get her sweater off--

"Excuse me for interrupting," Branwyn's voice came from the doorway, "but Paul, unless you want me to get a knife from the kitchen and cut off your balls, you'd best leave Meg alone."

Paul started and backed away from her, but not before Ms. Hodges had come, awakened by all the noise, stoned off her ass on whatever drugs she was taking, and waving her favorite wooden spoon menacingly. "What in hell is going on here?" the fat woman roared, stumbling and weaving under the influence of the massive amounts of drugs in her bloodstream.

Meg sat up and pointing indignantly at Paul. "That bastard was trying to rape me! He--"

The spoon came down before she noticed it, hitting the side of her ear with such force that it sent her sprawling over Paul's bed with an acute lack of dignity. Jack and Betsy pointed and laughed, but shut up when Branwyn glared at them.

"Maybe if you wouldn't act like such a goddamn _slut_ all the time, ya wouldn' have the boys tryin' to _screw_ ya all the time, _would_ ya?!" she yelled, and then, as she nearly fell over her own two feet, decided it might be best to go back to bed. Muttering under her breath, she left, weaving back and forth drunkenly.

Shaking, she stood, making her way back to her own pallet and falling over onto it tiredly. She knew the others were watching her intently, but didn't care. Rubbing the side of her ear, she winced, knowing it must be bright red by now.

Right now, she was feeling more depressed than she had in a long time. Writing in her journal had been her only refuge ever since the boys had burned all her books in a fit of maliciousness, and now it seemed as though even that wasn't safe. No matter how drunk the two boys were, most of the time the warmest they had gotten were teasing pats at her hip, or an attempt at fondling her breast, both of which she escaped from as quickly as possible. Never before had they actually attempted rape.

Suddenly, it seemed as if staying in the orphanage wasn't safe anymore.

But if she left, where would she go? The 'orphanage' was her only home, the other 'kids' the closest thing she had to a family. The other alternative was the street, which would be much worse; if she chose that way, she would probably end up like Betsy.

__

If this were a novel, right about now some kindly gentleman would come knocking on the door and take me in, and I'd turn out to be the princess of some long-lost country or something like that. But this isn't a novel, and I'm completely on my own.

For a moment, she seriously contemplated suicide. She knew where Ms. Hodges kept her cocaine, and she could manage to find it and use it herself, give herself an overdose guaranteed to kill. Suicide might be her only way out of the situation.

But still...something hidden deep inside rebelled against that notion, protesting that maybe, just maybe, this _would_ turn out to be like a novel, and there would be some other way out of her horrible situation. No matter how ready the rest of her might be to surrender and take the easy way out, there was a part of her that stubbornly refused to give up--at times, it was the only thing that kept her alive.

So, sighing, she closed her eyes, curled into a ball on her pallet, and let herself sleep. 


	2. Chapter Two

She was awakened the next morning by sun shining in through the large window next to her cot, glaring brilliantly across her eyelids. She squinted towards the window tiredly; someone had forgotten to close the shutters. Sighing, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, only to find everyone else sleeping. Surely it couldn't be much later than seven o'clock; the others wouldn't be awake for three hours, at the very least. Doing her best to be quiet, she rose from her pallet, tiptoeing over to the window and closing the shutters. That done, she began to dig through her bookbag, looking for the dress she kept at the very bottom.

No one else knew about this dress, the beautiful dress that her mother had made for her just before she had died. Meg wore it whenever she could find the slightest excuse, and no matter how old she got, it always fit her as perfectly as it had when it was first made. It was rather like the dress she had described Lady Bethany as wearing: made of light blue satin, it had Celtic knots embroidered on it in a light blue thread that was so light it seemed almost white. The sleeves were something white and soft and very sheer, and she also had a length of gold cord intended to be looped about the waist when the dress was being worn.

If any of the others ever discovered her beautiful dress, they would tear it to shreds just for the sake of being mean. Branwyn and Melissa would hold back, but the other three would maliciously rip it apart; she knew they would, for they had done the exact same thing with the books they knew she had loved so. She also knew she wouldn't be able to bear that; it was the only thing she had now to remind her of her parents, and one of the few things she still possessed that she honestly cared about. Naturally, she was extremely careful to keep its existence a secret from everyone else, even Branwyn and Melissa.

Now, she took it from the bag, as well as her hairbrush, toothbrush, and comb. Making her way to the one small bathroom the orphanage contained, she closed the door behind her and turned on the light, wincing as the roaches scattered. Setting her other possessions down on the dirt-encrusted corner of the sink, she took out her toothbrush and brushed her teeth thoroughly.

That done, she locked the door and stripped of her earlier clothes. Shivering with the chill of the cold tiled floor, she picked up the dress, slipping it on over her head and trying the golden cord about her waist. That done, she began to work the brush through her annoyingly plain and frizzy brown hair.

Hair brushed, she tied it back in a ponytail, then managed to braid it. It didn't look anywhere near as neat as it could have, but oh well; it wasn't like she was likely to meet anyone out in the forest where she was going. Surveying herself critically in the mirror, she had a moment's heartfelt wish that she could do something about her glasses and the plainness of the rest of her appearance. She had tried, numerous times, but contact lenses bothered her eyes, and her hair refused to do anything she wanted it to.

Gazing woefully at her reflection, hazel eyes wide in the dirt-stained mirror, she at last heaved a sigh and nodded at herself. She still wasn't pretty; there wasn't anything she could ever do to change that. But at least she looked half-decent now.

Emerging from the bathroom, she tiptoed carefully over the sleeping forms of the others. She had to pause for a moment as Paul and Betsy, disgustingly twined about each other as usual, stirred in their sleep. They didn't wake, thankfully, although she had another moment's scare when a loose floorboard creaked as she stepped on it. Nobody woke then either, so she continued, at last making her way to the orphanage and stepping outside, into the crisp chill and disgustingly polluted autumn air of downtown Atlanta, Georgia.

One wouldn't expect to find a forest this largely overgrown within a hundred miles of Atlanta, Georgia, where the small 'orphanage' sat. Such an abundance of trees, she knew from experience, was much more commonplace further away from the city, and not anything truly extraordinary. Still, one had to go almost as far as Macon, a hundred miles to the south, before they were truly out of the reaches of the city.

Yet there was no denying the fact that, if one knew where to go, there existed a large, ignored and overgrown, honest-to-God forest, not all that far from the orphanage. Meg was pretty sure she was the only one in the orphanage that knew about it; then again, maybe Branwyn knew. She had been known to disappear mysteriously for hours, with no explanation of where she had gone. Meg fully intended to keep the forest's existence a secret. It was the only place where she could go and be absolutely certain that she was, for the moment, free from Ms. Hodge's temper and the fondling of the boys.

On the times when she came out to the forest, dressed in the dress her mother had made her, she actually sometimes felt as if she were the heroine in a novel, the princess in a fairy tale. Maybe some kindly gentleman would come along to rescue her from her dreadful plight any moment, a knight in shining armor galloping through the forest on horseback swinging a sword. Maybe he would even be disfigured by a dreadful curse, and she would end up falling in love with him and breaking the spell by true love's first kiss, like in Beauty and the Beast...

__

Yeah, right, Meg. You're certainly no Beauty, and magic doesn't exist.

Sighing, she lowered herself delicately to the forest floor, autumn's fallen leaves crinkling under her weight. Leaning her back against a nearby tree, she sighed, wishing she could bring a book out here to read, where she knew it would be safe.

__

Dream on, Meg. Even if you had enough money to buy a book, you wouldn't be able to keep it a secret long enough to finish reading it.

Heaving another sigh, she let herself relax against the tree trunk; not exactly the most comfortable position she'd ever been in, but not the least comfortable either. A large 'granddaddy longlegs' spider came over to curiously investigate her; smiling, she let it climb on her hand and explore. Unlike a lot of other girls--and boys--she never had any problem with spiders, or snakes, or any other of the more common phobias. There were only three things she was afraid of--dogs, horses, and, of course, getting raped by the boys.

Small dogs never had bothered her. When she was seven, though, one of her old neighbor's German Shepherds had tried to attack her when she was out walking. The dog was really quite a gentle creature, the neighbors had said; _obviously_ she must have done something to provoke it. All she'd been doing was walking by, but try telling them that. Ever since then, she had been terrified of any large dog, no matter how sweet and pliant they might actually be.

She was also afraid of horses. She knew in her head that most horses were gentle creatures, and the worst they were likely to hurt you was if they accidentally stepped on your foot--not that that didn't hurt like hell. Still, she couldn't help it. She was terrified of anything that was larger than her, in an almost instinctive way.

Cats, she never minded; they were her favorite animals. After all, even the largest Maine Coon cat she had ever seen was still a lot smaller than she was. She knew she'd never have more to fear from them than a scratch or two, and most of those accidental.

Thoroughly relaxed, she closed her eyes, letting herself drift off into daydreaming about the Lady Bethany's adventures. She didn't even notice when she drifted off into true sleep.

__

She sat atop the back of a snow-white horse, clinging to Sir Eric tir Valon's back as his valiant steed galloped off towards the castle that was her home. Her dress billowed about her, white-blonde hair blowing back in the wind. She laughed with pure adrenaline--though she loved to ride sidesaddle, never in her life had she been atop a horse going this fast.

At last they pulled into the courtyard of her castle, and she dropped off the horse, lightly landing on her feet. Her father came rushing out to meet her, wrapping her in a warm, embrace. "Hello, my little darling!" he crowed merrily. "And what mischief have you been up to, eh?"

"Not mischief, Father," she told him solemnly, tweaking the end of his nose. "Count DuTare tried to kidnap me! If it weren't for Sir Eric, I wouldn't even be alive now, I'm sure."

"Well, then," her father said, looking past her to the knight, who was dismounting from his white steed. "Shall we find a way of rewarding him, my girl?"

Sir Eric kneeled in front of the two, taking her hand romantically. "Milady Bethany, it would serve as all the reward and honor I require if you would accept my hand in marriage. If, of course, you are willing...?"

"Willing!" She laughed giddily, musical voice echoing in the courtyard walls. "I am more than willing, Sir Eric, I would be just as rewarded and honored as you!"

"Well then," her father said again, beaming and looking quite pleased with himself. "Before you two lovebirds are wedded, we simply must find out the evil mage that my brother the Count was working for..."

She woke with a start, to find herself staring into a large, wet black nose. "Eyaah!" she shrieked, trying to scramble backwards and succeeding only in painfully digging her backbone into the tree trunk.

The black nose, upon closer examination, revealed to be a big, yellow dog. It barked at her, cocking its head to one side. "Get," she croaked hoarsely, sounding more like a frog's ribbit than a command. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Get!" she yelled, pointing a finger away from her. "Go on, shoo! Go _away_!"

For a moment she thought the dog was going to ignore her, maybe even attack her. But after only a moment's hesitation, he turned and trotted off obediently, tail wagging merrily.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she slumped down against the tree, heart pounding from her scare. Glancing overhead, she realized with a start that the sun was almost overhead, and began to realize how long she must have slept. It must be nearly noon!

Forgetting entirely that she was dressed in an outfit she most certainly didn't want the others to discover, she hiked up her skirts and ran, bare feet making quite a ruckus on the fallen leaves.

At last making her way to the orphanage, the door was yanked open just when her hand was about to land on the doorknob. Branwyn stood in the doorway, dressed in a black T-shirt and matching pants. Her eyes widened when she saw Meg, and she glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Meg, don't come back here," she whispered urgently, obviously not wanting to be overheard. "The others think you split, and you prob'ly should. Some blonde guy came here today, an' adopted Betsy. 'Twas real obvious he jus' wanted her for a sex toy, but Ms. Hodges let him adopt her anyways, she don't care. He heard 'bout you an' said he'd come back for ya, then Jack and Paul got this look on their face like they was gonna make real sure you didn' leave here a virgin. If I 'twas you, I'd run, an' fast."

Meg shook her head in silent protest. "But--Branwyn, I _can't_! I don't have nowhere else to live, you know that! If I leave, I'm gonna end up on the streets, and I'm gonna end up like Betsy. Maybe this place ain't much better than bein' a hooker, but I don't have much of a choice."

Branwyn shook her head. "Trust me, Meg, you ain't gonna wanna stay here. Take this." Rooting around in her pocket for a moment, she emerged with some sort of necklace, a pendant of some kind strung on a black cord. She hung it around Meg's neck, then surveyed her and nodded.

Meg tucked it into the top of her dress, so that only the cord was visible. "Good luck charm?"

The other girl shrugged. "You could say that. Jus' take it with ya, and you'll be fine. I know you don't believe in stuff like that, but I do, and I'm the one that made it."

"I still don't think--"

"Look, just trust me, 'kay? Run. You went somewhere today, obviously; go there again." She glanced over her shoulder again, then grabbed something from nearby the doorway and handed it to Meg. It proved to be her bookbag, which, judging by the added weight, was packed with her stuff.

"What about you?" Meg protested. "I know th' guys are 'fraid of you now, but what if they end up gettin' over it? An' what about Melissa?"

"Don't worry 'bout me an' Melissa, Meg. We'll both be fine." Branwyn then made further argument moot by closing the door in Meg's face.

Taking a deep breath, she considered going after the other girl and dragging her and Melissa off with her--to whatever fate might await her. Sighing, she decided that might not be a good idea, and started walking, slinging the bag over her shoulder. She was doing her best not to be angry with the other girl; Branwyn was just trying to look out for her, after all. It wasn't Branwyn's fault that her idea of looking out for her was dumping her out on the streets, with nothing but a stupid necklace to protect her.

Glancing down towards the necklace, she untucked it from her dress to examine it more closely. It looked like some kind of marble, with green and blue colors all mixed together in its depth. Meg shook her head, and sighed. Branwyn might believe in good luck charms and Wiccan crap, but Meg didn't, and she really didn't see how a necklace was going to help her much.

She looked up, realizing that her meandering feet had taken her to the forest again without her realizing it. _Damn. Why couldn't Branwyn at least come with me? If Betsy is gone, the boys are gonna want someone else to use for a playtoy. Of course, Branwyn's absolutely positive she can take care of herself, and Melissa besides. I just hope she doesn't find out otherwise by having one or the other of them get raped._

Her stomach was beginning to demand food, soon; the last time she had eaten had been last afternoon, after all. She let her thoughts wander along with her feet, doing her best to not worry about where in the hell was going to get something to eat.

__

Damn Branwyn, anyway. Even if I had tried to stay, she would probably have picked me up and dumped me back out on my ass, that's how stubborn she is. And I go along with her, like the idiot that I am.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even see the rosebush until the thorns pricked her skin. Yelping, she pulled back, then realized just what she had run into.

A large rosebush stood in her path, filled with roses of every color imaginable, including some that roses didn't even come in, at least not as far as she knew. Standing out here in the middle of nowhere, where nobody besides Meg and possibly Branwyn ever came, looking as if someone watered and trimmed it every single day.

She stared it at. It _could_ have been a wild rosebush, she supposed--but they didn't _look _like wild roses. Shouldn't they all be the same color? There were no two roses of the same color on _this_ bush, which she had never before seen on _any_ rosebush, wild or no. And besides, it was perfectly trimmed into a perfect shape, obviously without a single leaf ever having been allowed to run wild. Obviously taken excellent care of.

So how in the world had it ended up out here?

Shaking her head, she started to go around it, but something made her stop. Turning back, she thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Surely it couldn't hurt to pick just one rose; it wasn't likely the person who kept care of the bush would ever find her to fuss at her for it, and she had always had a weakness for roses, anyway. Reaching into the outside pocket of her bookbag, she dug for a moment, then emerged triumphantly holding a pair of scissors.

Finding the one truly red rose the bush contained, she reached out with the scissors, carefully cutting the stem. Careful of the thorns, she tucked it behind her ear, for a moment letting herself imagine she was the princess in a fairy tale, running off to seek her fortune.

Reality intruded rudely as her stomach growled, reminding her quite forcefully that she needed to find food, _soon._ With a depressed sigh, she started walking again, letting her feet take her where they would.

The mage sat in the center of his working room, seated atop the red velvet cushions of the wooden armchair. His face was shrouded by shadows and the hood of his blue satin robe, leaving no clue to a casual observer of gender or age. He was relaxing lazily in the chair, hands placed elegantly along the edges, the length of his sleeves effectively hiding his hands as well.

"Someone has picked one of your roses." The voice came from the darkness, an utterly indescribable and absolutely genderless voice.

The mage sighed. "Who?"

"A young girl. She runs from something, but has fallen asleep."

"Show me."

Two of the candles in the room lit into sudden life, illuminating the mirror that adorned the wall in front of his chair. Instead of reflecting his face, the mirror revealed an entirely different image, that of a young girl, curled in a ball, head resting against the bark of an oak tree.

He regarded her detachedly, considering. She was dressed in something light blue and white, something very fine, a dress the likes of which had adorned the fair beauties of his court before the curse had come upon him. Her brown hair was tied back from her face and braided, but many small tendrils had escaped as she slept, to drift into her face unnoticed. A pair of glasses perched atop her nose, and her feet were bare. There was some sort of yellow and black canvas bag slung over one shoulder, adding the only jarring note to the image of a fair courtly lady.

A single red rose was tucked over one ear, a beautiful rose of the purest red. Red the color of blood, or the color of love.

"So she picked a red rose."

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Shall I lead her here?"

He thought, considering the notion carefully. How many years had it been since someone had found his rosebush and picked any color rose, much less a red one? Red had always been his personal favorite color of rose; then again, it was also the color of the flower that had led to his downfall.

At last he spoke, a single word to break the silence.

"Yes." 


	3. Chapter Three

Meg stirred, yawned lazily, and didn't open her eyes, doing her best to drift back off into slumber. Her feet had begun to ache not too far from the rosebush, and she had lain down, propped up against an oak tree, intending merely to rest her feet for a moment. She had ended up falling asleep, though, and was only just now awakening.

The trunk of the tree dug into her back relentlessly, thoroughly dispelling her sleepiness and making it quite impossible to return to her dreams. Heaving a sigh, she sat up and stretched, glancing around.

And gasped, all thought of hunger and discomfort momentarily forgotten in favor of surprise.

Where she sat now was nothing like the place where she had gone to sleep. True, a forest lay to her back, but in front of her lay a true, honest-to-God, _castle_.

It was a castle of the sort she didn't think even existed inside the United States, made of something that looked to her like gray stone, although she wasn't exactly an expert on building materials. It rambled all over the country hillside like some great stone labyrinth within walls, and must have had hundreds--maybe even thousands--of different rooms and corridors. A cobblestone path led from the forest at her back to a large, foreboding black iron gate, with two small statues of cupids perched atop the gate on either side.

She had absolutely no idea who lived there, or how in the world she had gotten there. Nor did she have any idea how to get back.

Gulping, she stared at the expansive castle, then at last climbed to her feet. _Maybe...maybe this castle, and whoever lives in it, is better than the orphanage, and the other kids there. If anybody even lives there; hell, it's probably abandoned._

Taking a deep breath, she slung her bookbag over her shoulder and approached the large gate nervously, wondering if it would be locked, or if it would swing open at her touch, only to find herself shot by the bows the cupid statues held as she walked through...

__

Now you're being silly, Meg. No matter how much it might seem _like it, this is _not _a fairy tale. You're nothing like Cinderella, or Sleeping Beauty, or any of the other fairy tale heroines, and the worst thing that can happen is that the damn gate'll be locked._

Hesitantly, she put a hand on the iron gate. It swung open before she pushed, _both_ sides swinging open, rather than just the one side she had placed her hand on. Suppressing stern misgivings, she made herself walk through the gate.

Inside the gate, she was treated to a rather impressive view of an enormously large lawn. Just a ways forward and to her right lay a gigantic fountain, in the shape of another cupid blowing a horn out of which water gently cascaded. The statue looked like it was made of marble, but who knew; it might even have been plastic. These days, they could make plastic look like anything.

The iron gate swung shut behind her, closing with an audible click. She whirled around, gazing at it with wide eyes. Darting forward, she dropped her bag on the ground in her haste, and ran into the gate trying to get it to open again. Her fingers scrabbled over the iron frantically, searching for any sort of clasp or a lock, and encountered nothing but smooth iron bars. No matter how hard she pushed, how much she leaned her weight against it, the gate remained closed.

She was trapped.

Turning, she took a deep breath, and made herself walk forward and grab her bag again. _Maybe it'll be an abandoned castle, and nobody'll be there to bitch at me for coming in, never mind that the gate was unlocked. Or hopefully, if there is someone there, they'll be friendly. Or they'll unlock the gate for me. Or something._

She forced herself to walk along the cobblestone path, trying not to drag her feet, all the way to the front door. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, she was staring up at the door, feeling quite intimidated. The door was easily twice as tall as she was, and she wasn't exactly short, and it was nearly ten times as wide. It was made of wood, or at least it looked like wood, and there were all sorts of intricate designs carved into it--they looked handmade, but they could have been done with a tool of some sort. She peered closer at them with a frown, wondering if they might give her a peek into the mind of whoever lived here--if anyone did. Dragons, flying horses, unicorns--they looked like something from a fantasy author's fever dream. Shaking her head, she glanced around for a doorbell, or at least a knocker. She found none.

Suppressing a strong feeling of intimidation--she might _look_ somewhat like a princess, but she certainly didn't _feel_ like one--she raised a fisted hand and knocked lightly upon the door.

No answer.

"Anybody home?" she called.

Silence.

Wondering, she placed the palm of her hand flat against the door, as she had done with the gate. It swung open silently, just as the gate had. Taking another deep breath, she steeled herself against whatever might be inside, and stepped through the gigantic door.

It swung shut behind her, closing with an echoing boom and a click of finality. She didn't even bother turning around and trying to open it again--wherever she was, she was most certainly trapped now.

Used to the bright sun outside, it took her eyes several minutes to get used to the gloomy darkness inside. Blinking to clear away the spots in front of her eyes, she at last realized she stood in a grand entry hall, every bit as wide and twice again as tall as the door had been. Any number of doors led off to either side, doors smaller than the entrance, but still bigger than any _ordinary_ door. Up ahead of her, at the end of the long hall, lay a large room, in which she could see firelight flickering even from this distance.

She couldn't pretend it anymore; there was obviously someone living here. If the castle had been abandoned, even with a fire still lit in the fireplace, it would surely have gone out over time. And plus, the castle showed every sign of inhabitants; everything was perfectly clean, spotless, and with no dust whatsoever, which proved there were careful caretakers here.

Pushing her glasses further up on her nose, she squinted nervously into the near-darkness ahead. Knowing how bedraggled she must look, with her hair even more messed-up and frizzy than it was normally, and her beautiful dress dirty and wrinkled, she steeled herself against the sure wrath of the castle's inhabitants and made herself walk forward.

Emerging into the large room at the end of the hall, she looked around; a gigantic red armchair stood in front of her, blocking her view of the fireplace in which the fire flickered. A small end table stood beside it, with two other, smaller chairs to either side. A huge rug stood underneath all the chairs, and two large staircases, went off to either side, the one on the left steep, twirling, and made of iron, the one on the right a marble staircase carpeted in red, with only a gentle rise to it and no turns at all.

There was more than likely to be someone in the huge armchair. After all, it would be the perfect addition to this fairy tale castle.

Gathering her courage, she walked around to the other side of the chair.

The chair was completely empty, as were the other, smaller two. Breathing a sigh of relief and feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, she was suddenly overcome with curiosity, and climbed into the huge chair, which seemed about as large as her father's normal-sized armchair had seemed when she was little. Bouncing on the fluffy velvet cushion, she actually dared to giggle aloud.

The sound seemed quite odd after the dead silence, and echoed throughout the castle, surely alerting her presence to anyone who might be there.

She gulped, giddy feeling quite suddenly and completely gone. Moving to climb down out of the large chair, she heard cloth tear, and when she stood, could see quite clearly where her favorite gown and only memoir of her parents had ripped hugely, right above her right knee.

She felt tears spring to her eyes and tried to shove them down, but they overflowed before she could stop them. Sniffling, nose suddenly plugged up, she wiped ineffectively at her face, and managed only to spread the dirt she had collected in the forest across her face.

__

Dammit, it's not fair! _First I just about get raped, then my best friend dumps me out on my ass, then I get lost, and now I'm in the middle of some huge castle and my damn dress just ripped! I didn't do anything to deserve this shit!_

Doing her best imitation of a growl, she wiped at her eyes once more, spreading the dirt even more effectively across her face, and hefted her bookbag higher on her shoulder, determined to find out if there was anyone else in the castle, and if they were responsible for bringing her here.

__

And if they are, there's gonna be hell to pay!

After some debate, she had chosen the rightmost staircase as a start for exploring. She didn't like the dubious look of the twisting iron staircase to the left; who knew if it would support her weight? Instead, she had taken the rightmost marble staircase, the one with the red carpet.

__

If this is their idea of the red carpet treatment, they've got some things to answer. I don't exactly like being locked in a place like this.

At last she had gotten to the top of the staircase, only to find herself facing another hallway. This hallway was even darker than the first, completely unlit by anything like the already-lit candles that had been in place along the walls of the first hallway.

Taking a deep breath, she started to walk along the hallway, trying not to let her imagination get out of hand, thinking of all sorts of things that could be hiding in the darkness, which she might not see until it was too late. She didn't have to worry about that for long, though; as she was walking, a candle beside her suddenly sprung into life, illuminating the portion of hallway she stood in and a little bit before and after.

She glanced around nervously, wondering how in the world the candle had suddenly become lit; she was still quite alone in the hallway.

__

Hell, it's almost enough to make you believe in magic. It might even be _magic..._

With that thought, she found herself staring at the candle, wondering...

__

Meg, get real. The only kind of magic there is is just card tricks and sleight of hand. You even know how to do some of the tricks yourself. Get a grip _on yourself._

Taking a breath, she continued. The candles lit themselves as she walked past each one of them; she did her best to ignore them. She walked past countless doors, until at last she came to another gigantic pair of doors at the end of the hallway.

She stopped short, staring. Surely this was the master set of rooms, and whoever lived here would be within. Surely it would be locked.

Taking a step forward, she took the great handle in her hand and tugged. The door remained stubbornly shut. She tried looking for a lock, a button to press, she even tried placing the palm of her hand flat against the door the way she had with the gate and the entrance. Nothing worked, and there was no lock to pick, even if she felt like digging through her bookbag for her often-handy set of lock picks--which she didn't.

Shrugging, she turned, looking back down the hallway. Picking a door at random, she went to one of the two doors closest to what she still thought was the master rooms, the one that was now on her left.

For a moment, she expected it to open of its own will, as half of the other doors in this crazy place seemed to be doing. It actually required her to turn the doorknob and push, though, which was oddly reassuring, despite the fact that the candles in the room flared into life as soon as she entered.

Blinking, she looked around, staring in awe at the extravagance now surrounding her. The four-poster bed was of a medieval style, with a flat blue canopy and gauzy light blue curtains that closed all the way around, the kind of bed she had secretly always wanted. At the moment, the curtains were fully open, revealing it to be already made, with silk sheets and a blue velvet blanket that matched the canopy and curtains, one corner turned down invitingly. The bed itself was huge, fully big enough for three people to sleep in comfortably, although there was only one white fluffy pillow placed in the center--somehow, she found that fact comforting.

At last managing to tear her eyes away from the bed, she began to examine the rest of the room, which was, naturally, just as extravagant and large as the rest of the castle. Candles in wall sconces were everywhere, fully illuminating the room and even managing, for the most part, to avoid the unsteady, flickering light that always came hand-in-hand with candles. The walls were painted in shades of light blue and white, the floor carpeted with a light blue rug depicting a cluster of red roses in the center; the large window directly in front of her was curtained in more blue and white, and was complete with a windowseat, three pillows propped up against the wall for comfort's sake. There was a large wardrobe to the right of the bed, and a table with two drawers to the left. A dresser stood just to the right of the window, and a large closet dominated the corner next to it. Along the right wall was a large (as usual) bookcase, filled absolutely to the brim with books of every shape, size, and color imaginable, and in the corner next to it sat a small (for once) chair, with a blue velvet cushion.

All in all, it was almost her dream bedroom--except for the lack of technology, it was the room she had always wanted. And she wasn't going to turn this one down just because it didn't have a bigscreen TV.

There were three doors in the room; one through which she had come, one that led to the closet, and one in the corner that wasn't occupied by a closet, a chair, or a wardrobe. Overcome with curiosity, she headed to the other door.

The door proved to lead to a bathroom, just as extravagant and large as everything else, but oddly up to date when compared to the rest of the castle. They had indoor plumbing here--which was a good thing--judging by the recent-looking, bathtub, sink, and toilet. The bathtub even included a shower, something they hadn't even had back at the orphanage.

Shaking her head in wonder, she went back to the room itself and began to explore. The closet and dresser proved to be entirely empty, and she unpacked and stored her things in them without even thinking about what she was doing. The wardrobe, when opened, revealed to contain a complete collection of medieval and Renaissance dresses in a variety of colors, each of them perfect in every way--her dream wardrobe. It also contained some simpler white nightgowns, she was glad to see; she plucked one of them from the wardrobe without even thinking and placed it atop the bed.

Examining the books upon the bookcase, she was surprised and delighted with most of the selection. True, some of the larger and dustier tomes looked like schoolbooks and most definitely sounded as if they would put her to sleep, but for the most part, the selection of books was immensely interesting, and it even included some of her favorite books, or books she had wanted to purchase.

Shaking her head again, she headed to the bathroom, carrying her toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush. She set them down in their proper places around the sink, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, and changed into the nightgown she had laid out. She contemplated the idea of taking a shower, but decided she was far too tired. When she returned to the bedroom, a tray was laid out atop the table, with a PBJ on a plate, a hot dog, a small bag of potato chips, and a can of Coke. She fell to immediately, finishing the meal in mere moments, and left the empty tray atop the table. She was climbing into the amazingly comfortable bed when she realized what she was doing.

__

What the hell?! I'm making myself at home like I was born here, like I've lived here my entire life. I mean, yeah, there doesn't seem to be anybody else here, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to stay here...

Not that I have much choice. Somehow, I think the door and the gate are still locked.

Sighing, she sat down upon the corner of the bed and held her head in her hands.

"Greetings, lady."

The voice boomed from nowhere, scaring her out of her wits. She thought later that she must have actually levitated for a moment. As it was, as soon as she landed, she flung a hand out towards the dresser, grasping the first thing her hand landed on, which coincidentally was her hairbrush. "Who the hell's there?" she called, cursing mentally as her voice trembled a little.

She could have sworn she distinctly heard a sigh. "I am not anywhere in your rooms, I assure you. I am elsewhere in the house, somewhere you have not explored yet. Please, I can promise you that you have nothing whatsoever to be afraid of."

The voice was warm, deep; definitely masculine. Taking a deep breath, she considered putting down the hairbrush, but decided to keep it for now, still ready to use it as a weapon. "Who are you?" she asked instead.

"Who I am does not really matter. But if names are that important to you...I am called Jason Taylor."

"Well then, Mr. Taylor," she called, trying to suppress the feeling of stupidity that came from talking to empty air. "Why am I locked in your house?"

"You are not locked in, madam. You could leave if you wished, but I do wish you wouldn't, quite yet."

"Why?" Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you are unwilling to give, I promise you. Consider yourself an honored guest."

Sighing, she put down the hairbrush, oddly willing to accept the man's bare word as truth. "Okay, why not? Everything else today has been like a fairy tale."

"For now, madam--"

"Meg," she interrupted. "Well, Megan Dale actually, but just go ahead and call me Meg. Megan don't sound right. I'm sure as hell not a madam, and I've got too dirty a mouth to be a lady."

There was silence for a moment, as if the invisible Mr. Taylor was somewhat flustered by this statement. "Well then, Meg," he said at last. "As I was saying, for now, I suggest you get some sleep. I can promise you that no harm will come to you as you rest; the necklace you wear is enough to assure that. So now--rest."

Shoving aside her misgivings, she laid back into the warm embrace of the bed, amazingly comfortable and far softer than her hard pallet at the orphanage. Her head hit the soft, fluffy pillow--they hadn't even _had _pillows, at the orphanage--and she was asleep before she was even aware of closing her eyes.


	4. Chapter Four

Sunlight shone in upon her eyelids, waking her. Yawning, she flung an arm across her eyes in an attempt to block it, turning on her side. _Amazing how comfortable this damn pallet can be sometimes, and this pillow's so soft..._

Realizing that they didn't even _have_ pillows at the orphanage, she sat straight up in bed, gazing about with wide eyes. For a moment she was disoriented; then the events of the previous day came rushing back.

__

Oh yeah. Branwyn dumped me out on my ass, I fell asleep, and I'm stuck in a castle with some crazy guy who wants me to help him. And I had myself almost convinced this place was magic, too.

Yawning, she stretched, reveling in the comfortable bed for a little before she awoke. _Yeah, sure. Magic my ass. The damn candles probably had motion sensors or some crap, and God only knows what's responsible for the rest of it. It sure as hell ain't magic, though. They can do anything with computers these days._

Hopping out of bed, she turned, looking for her dress, which she knew she had simply abandoned on the floor the night before.

It wasn't there.

Blinking, she shook herself. _Okay, Meg, get a grip on yourself. You know _someone _takes care of the place, obviously; there isn't so much as a speck of dust anywhere in here. They came in and took your dress while you were sleeping, and you didn't hear 'em 'cause you were sleepin' like a log._

And maybe, whoever they are, they'll be nice enough to fix the tear. Cheered somewhat by that thought, she went to the closet. She could have worn one of the beautiful dresses in the wardrobe; then again, who knew if they would even fit her, and assuming she was going to face down the owner of the household today, she didn't want to feel silly, wearing some stupid Halloween costume.

Taking a pair of her own black Jordache flares and a purple ribbed T-shirt from the closet, she stripped hastily in the center of her room, pulling on the new clothes. She left the nightgown on the floor by habit, not even consciously thinking about it.

Strolling to the door, she placed her hand on the doorknob and was about to walk outside when the booming voice from last night surprised her again. "Greetings, Ms. Dale," he said, sounding rather uncertain.

Blinking, she walked back to the chair and let herself crumple into it, wishing her heart would stop pounding with fright. "Um, hi," she said, pleased to hear that no sign of her scare showed in her voice. "Listen, whoever you are, I don't know who you are, or what you want, or anything, but I'd _really_ like it if you'd let me go."

"I already told you, you may go at any time you wish."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I guess I'll have to take your word on that. But who the hell are ya, anyway?"  
"I already told you, I am called Jason Taylor--"

"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted. "I know _that_. But do you own this house, or what? And who are you? Are you a lawyer, or a reclusive writer, or some millionaire who likes living out in the middle of nowhere, or--"

"Yes, Ms. Dale, I do own this house," he informed her, interrupting her this time. "And I am not a lawyer, or a reclusive writer, or anything else you listed. I am..." She distinctly heard a sigh. "Let us just say that I am something of a recluse."

She rolled her eyes at yet another unsatisfactory answer. "Okay, fine. Where the hell _are_ you? 'Cause I know you're not in here with me, but--hey, and speaking of which, where the hell's the hidden speaker? I know there's gotta be one somewhere, 'cause how else can I hear ya?"

"Whatever a 'hidden speaker' might be, I assure you, there is not one in your rooms. And where I am and how you can hear me need not matter right now. Now, if you are done asking impertinent questions--"

"Hey, I ain't done yet," she interrupted rudely, ignoring both the odd feeling of speaking to empty air, and the hint of a temper that lay beneath the man's last comment. "And if you think I'm being 'impertinent' now, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Why do you want me here? And why me?"

"You were the only one I could bring," he said, this time sounding weary rather than angry. Despite her annoyance, her curiosity was beginning to spark; she could almost feel that there had to be an interesting story to whoever the hell the man might be, and how he ended up owning a castle out in the middle of nowhere.

"As for why I want you here, I already told you, consider yourself an honored guest," he continued, as if that would explain everything.

She snorted, climbing to her feet. "How can I be an 'honored guest' if I just happened to find this place, got myself locked inside, and only spent the night because I didn't have anywhere else to go?"

"Being locked inside was but a temporary measure, to assure you stayed here long enough to hear me out," he assured. "If you find the door or the gate, you will find they will open quite easily. But if you don't have anywhere else to go, why not stay here for now?"

She winced, realizing that her big mouth had betrayed her. "Okay, fine. You're right. I don't have anywhere else to go, and I don't really have a good reason _not_ to stay here. I think you're crazy, and I had better be able to leave if and when I want to, but as long as you don't try to rape me or some shit, I guess I can play along with this crap for now. So I'm an 'honored guest,' huh? Well, I want some breakfast."

"Certainly. Do you prefer to eat in your rooms, or in the dining hall?"

She hadn't seen any sign of a dining hall; then again, she hadn't explored the whole castle. "In my rooms, please. I have no clue where the dining hall might be."

"Very well. If there is anything else you require, simply say it aloud and it shall be brought to you."

She had no reason to think he was gone, but she felt with an odd surety that even if she were to say something now, he wouldn't hear her.

Shaking her head, she lay back, considering that last. _Simply say it aloud and it shall be brought to me. Yeah, right. Wonder if he's some Wiccan dude, like Branwyn, doin' spells to make sure I get me breakfast?_

Then she laughed. _If he is, it'll never get to me, that's for sure. Naw, some servant or somethin'll come in any minute now, with a tray of food. Seems like the style of this place, don't it?_

You know, I wonder what would happen if I tried saying something I wanted aloud. Not like it would really work_, but you never know, and it can't hurt to try. The worst that'll happen is I'll feel really stupid when nothing happens._

Something deep inside her _wanted_ to believe in magic, wanted to believe that if she said something aloud that something would actually happen. That part of her made her sit up, clear her throat, and say, the sound oddly loud in the silence, "My hairbrush, please."

For a moment, nothing happened. Just when she was about to laugh at her own stupidity, her hairbrush silently lifted of its own volition from the dresser, floating over to hover in front of her.

She stared. And stared. The brush wiggled, as if becoming impatient. Automatically, she put out a hand. The brush dropped into it, leaving her staring at it in bewilderment.

The door opened all by itself, and a silver tray came floating in. It stopped right in front of her as she put down the brush, rising to her feet. She walked all around it; nothing. She waved her hands all around the top, bottom, and to the sides, inspecting for strings.

There was absolutely nothing to hold the tray in the air, yet there it was.

Gulping, she took it, and sat back on the bed. "Thank you," she said to the air, feeling as if whatever it was deserved a response.

Shaking her head, she picked up her brush, working it through her tangled hair without conscious thought. _How in the hell does it_ do _that? There's no strings, nothing! There's absolutely _no way_ that thing could be floating through the air--but yet it was. It makes no sense, no sense at all, not unless you believe in magic, like in fairy tales or Wiccan crap, and I'm not that gullible._

At last deciding to accept it without an explanation for now, she examined the contents of the tray. Amazingly enough, it contained a bowl of surprisingly modern cereal--Kix, with a spoon waiting expectantly. Next to it lay a smaller plate containing four slices of bacon, another plate with two scrambled eggs, and a tall glass, filled almost to the brim with orange juice.

She stared. _Doors opening by themselves, candles lighting themselves, my dream bedroom, my dream clothes, things floating in the air, and now my favorite breakfast. This is nuts. This is _very_ nuts._

It was then that another explanation occurred to her. _Maybe _I'm _the one that's nuts. Yeah, that's it, maybe I ended up on the streets or something and I went insane, and this is a dream or some such. Yeah, that explains it._

Shaking her head, she shrugged and decided to do her determined best to ignore the oddity of it all. Either she was insane, or it all made sense, somehow. She could figure out which one later. Taking a deep breath, she began to eat.

Not only was the meal her favorite, it was quite filling, much more than she was used to at the orphanage. By the time she was done, she had cleaned her plate of every last crumb, her glass empty down to the last drop, and she felt like she was going to burst. Blinking, she wondered what to do with the empty tray.

"Um," she said, holding it up to the empty air. "Could you...take this, or something?"

The tray lifted by itself, floating mysteriously over to the still-open door. The door closed behind it, leaving her staring.

Shaking herself, she remembered her decision to accept it all for now, no matter how odd, and stood. Dusting bacon crumbs from her jeans, she walked to the door, pulling it open.

Mr. Taylor hadn't said she could explore the castle freely, but he had said she was an honored guest, and surely that meant she could. Besides which, if she was going to be staying here, she had to know her way around; she couldn't be getting lost all the time.

So, she began to explore. The large double doors at the end of the hallway were still locked, but considering that was probably Jason Taylor's suite, and he apparently wished to be secretive about himself, she could see why. The rest of the rooms revealed numerous other guest suites, each decorated in a different fashion, with entirely different furniture and color schemes.

__

See? It's just a coincidence that yours is your dream bedroom, she told herself firmly. _You just happened to pick one that fit you perfectly, that's all. You could have picked any of these others, after all._

Trotting back down the red-carpeted stairs, she looked about the large 'main room,' as she was beginning to think of it, and looked at the iron staircase dubiously. "Is that thing safe?" she asked aloud, frowning.

In response, a tiny ball of golden light appeared, flying to the iron staircase and hovering just above where she would have to take her first step. "I'll take that as a yes," she muttered, and followed.

The thing stayed a step ahead of her the entire way, lighting her path. The staircase was mostly safe; there were a couple of rusty steps she had decided to step over, but nothing more dangerous than that. Once at the top of the staircase, the golden light abandoned her; she didn't have to worry for long, though, since candles lit themselves all the way along the long hallway, revealing more doors--three on either side--and another staircase at the end, this staircase much more like the red-carpeted one downstairs than the iron thing she had just attempted.

Shaking her head, she began to look into doors, peeking inside rooms nosily. The first two, adjacent to each other, were more guest rooms. She opened the next door on her left, expecting another guest room, only to be surprised by finding it to be a storage closet of sorts.

To be fair, it might have been an actual room one day, but everything in it had fallen into great disrepair. Venturing inside carefully, she managed to find room to put her feet as she looked about curiously. Hunting through the stuff with unabashed nosiness, most of what she found was junk--a complete tea set made of china, and a portrait of an exceedingly handsome young man with long black hair. She found several old books, intimidatingly large and dusty, with such odd things imprinted as titles such as, "Ye Olde Booke of Magick," and "How to Catch a Unicorn."

Shaking her head, she left, closing the door behind her. The door adjacent to it proved to be an actual closet, this one in much better condition, with God only knew how many useless knick-knacks on the shelves. She didn't pry further there, instead opting for the next set of doors.

The one on the left was locked, but the one on the right opened easily, revealing a small, enclosed room, holding a small table with something atop it akin to a crystal ball. The table was surrounded by chairs, and the room held nothing else, not even a window.

__

Wonder if Miss Cleo used to live here? Grinning, she started up the stairs, wondering where this set might lead.

Instead of to another hallway, this set twisted steeply up to the left, ending in a single door. Shrugging, she pushed it open, to find herself in the attic.

It was filled with junk, even more so than the other room had been. Everything in it was useless, either deteriorated with age or otherwise broken, tattered, or shredded. Another door lay open on the other side of the attic, sunlight spilling in, but she didn't even try to negotiate through the junk.

The rest of the house provided even more wonders. It was every bit as large as it had looked from the outside; the doors in the main hallway led to corridors with more doors, with a staircase at the end that led to another corridor, that led to a room with more stairs and doors. It was just a good thing most of the rooms were useless to her; otherwise, she would have needed a map to get around the place.

The first place she noted was the dining room, which, coincidentally enough, was the first room on the right when one came from the main room. There were no more corridors or stairs to ascend here; the door led straight into the room, almost was large as the main room. A single long table occupied most of it, surrounded by chairs, all of them, naturally, empty. Large windows took up all the space on the wall, letting a generous amount of sunlight spill in.

Seeing it, Meg was doubly glad she'd opted to eat in her rooms. She wouldn't have felt right, eating at such a fancy table all by herself, and would have been even more uncomfortable had the elusive Mr. Taylor opted to join her.

The next interesting thing she encountered was the gardens, second door on the left in the main hallway. Mr. Taylor's home had all sorts of gardens, with every sort of flower imaginable. The flowers were all in bloom, bees buzzing happily about it, despite the fact that it was the middle of autumn. Shaking her head, she merely walked along, ignoring the incongruity; it certainly wasn't the first odd thing about this place, nor the oddest.

There were all sorts of gardens; the first a garden dedicated to flowers, the next obviously a kitchen garden, with various sorts of fruits, vegetables, and herbs growing. One was devoted entirely to roses, an entire bush for each possible color of rose. One was a greenhouse, with several fountains and bird feeders lying all around, the feeders obviously much visited; another obviously a pleasure garden, filled with nooks and crannies for private trysts. The final one she came across was designed to look like a forest, despite the fact that it was entirely enclosed by glass, like another greenhouse.

Done exploring the rest of the house, she had gone into the last door on the right, and found herself stopping just inside the door and gaping in amazement.

She had at last found the library, and was in awe at the sheer number of _books._ Every single space in the library was devoted to a bookshelf, with the minor omission of a small section in the center where a small wooden table and two velvet-cushioned chairs sat for the sake of comfortable reading. Every bookcase was _filled_ with books, and stretched to the bottom of the balcony on the second floor--and the second floor was pretty high in the air. A staircase sat in the very back, squeezed in between two bookcases, leading to the second floor. The second floor was pretty much just a balcony that ran around the edges of the first floor, but it made good use of the space, with still more full bookcases in every space available.

__

I have died and gone to heaven.

Breathing in deep and savoring the smell of books, old, new, and somewhere in-between, she began to move among the shelves as if in a trance. Non-fiction--they had everything from Webster's, to books on equitation, to books on how to create realistic characters in novels. Meg even found some rather eccentric books she wouldn't have considered non-fiction, such as _The Witch's Guide to Fey Folk_.

__

Then again, Branwyn would probably consider it properly placed. Shaking her head, she moved to the fiction section, and was again awed, surprised, and delighted by the large selection. _They have everything from the classics to Nancy Drew to some of my favorite fantasy novels! This is too much! You could find anything you _wanted_ here!_

She ended up plucking a large selection from the shelves and toting the huge pile back to her room, barely able to see over the books she had piled up to her nose. Somehow managing to climb the stairs and open her door without killing herself, she dumped them on her bed with a sigh of relief, then beamed. _I could stay here forever if I wanted to,_ the thought occurred to her, and she frowned, somewhat worried by the thought...

__

Oh, snap out of it. The guy has a huge library, so naturally you want to stay, and you're so freaked out by his floating trays and whatnot that you're thinking there must be some supernatural reason behind it all. Shut up, calm down, and read your books.

Shaking her head, she moved the books from her bed to the floor, not even noticing that her casually discarded nightgown was gone. Pulling out a book from the stack--a novel by one of her favorite authors that she'd wanted to read for some time--she opened it and began to read.

Jason Taylor watched the girl unobtrusively, surveying her in his mirror. She dressed quite oddly, that was for sure, and talked even more oddly; she had an atrocious accent, one he couldn't manage to place, although it sounded familiar.

He had been watching her for a while now, watching as she explored the castle. Though she had examined all the other rooms in the house nosily, when she had found his work room and private suites locked, she had continued without seeming too put-out. He had enjoyed watching her in the library; the girl obviously loved books every bit as much as he did.

__

Or at least as much as I did, before the curse...

Reminded, he felt his throat tighten. Before the curse had come upon him, he had spent almost all of his time reading, and had managed to collect quite a large library, over time. Afterwards, his claws had made him unable to read without tearing the pages, and that was perhaps what he missed the most. He had continued to collect books, adding on to his library faithfully, but the curse still hadn't been broken, and he was fairly sure now that he would never be able to read them.

__

At least she can enjoy my library, even if I can't.

Sighing, he rose, stretching. The sleeves of his robe fell back as he did, revealing the fur and claws that were only a part of the curse. Wincing, he let his arms drop, the folds of his robe concealing them again.

The girl was in her rooms, reading. He could make his way to his rooms without being interrupted.

With another sigh, he rose from his chair.


	5. Chapter Five

Putting aside her book, she yawned hugely, wishing she had a way to tell what time it was. She knew she'd stayed up for several hours in order to finish the book she had borrowed from the large library, and it was now quite thoroughly dark outside, but she still wanted to know what time it was.

__

Duh, Meg. Christ, but you're stupid. Clearing her throat, she sat up. "A watch, if you don't mind?" she said aloud.

A watch appeared beside her obediently, dropping to the bed. Picking it up, she gasped in surprise; it was an expensive ladies' watch, with diamonds set around the outside, and was very beautiful.

__

A lot more expensive than what I was expecting, though. Hell, I was expecting a five dollar Barbie watch.

Shaking her head, she strapped it around her wrist and looked at the time; naturally, it was already properly set. _Midnight. Normally I would have been in bed for at least an hour by now, but I'm not tired at all. Hopefully Mr. Taylor doesn't mind my staying up._

Rising from her bed, she stretched. Looking at her pile of books, she contemplated beginning to read again; then she shrugged, picking the one volume in the pile she was sure would put her to sleep. Hopping back into bed, she stretched out, making herself comfortable as she opened the cover.

This book was one of the titles dubbed non-fiction that she was sure shouldn't have been; she had taken it out of the library mostly out of an insatiable curiosity to know what was within. The title was "A Beginner's Guide to Magick," one of many other volumes having to do with magick on the non-fiction shelves. Yawning, she began to read:

__

Foreword

First of all, I would like to say in regard to any young people or other beginners in the practice of magick who might be reading this volume, that this booke can in no possible way ever take place of the real live teaching of a Master of the arcane arts, and should in no way be assumed to do so. Such an assumption could be disastrous, as this booke is not a real live Master, although it was written by one. Attempting any of the experiments, spells, or sorceries described within these pages when not under the supervision of a true Master mage could cause great havoc, including damage to the spellcaster as extreme as death. It should never be attempted when not under the watchful eye of a certified Master of magick, even when following all other guidelines, precautions, and warnings detailed within. It could be very disastrous were it attempted so.

Meg blinked, wondering if the rest of the book was going to be as indecipherable and monotonous as this. If it were, it would certainly put her to sleep!

She found as she continued to read that she needn't have worried, though; rather than putting her to sleep, she found the volume very intriguing, despite its schoolbookish quality. If one simply accepted that magic was real, everything said in the book made complete and total sense.

__

And if you accept that magic is real and believe this book, everything I've seen in this house makes complete and total sense, too.

It was too much. Rising, she shook her head, marking her place with a piece of ribbon she had found halfway through the first chapter. Opening her door, she began to walk, not knowing where she was going, merely intending to think everything out thoroughly.

__

Okay. Let's assume for a minute that magic is real, which I don't believe, but whatever. According to that book, it isn't stuff like what Branwyn did, with all those candles and diagrams and praying to the Goddess. It's more like in fairy tales, or--or like in fantasy novels.

And if you just assume that magic is real, everything in that book makes sense, that's_ the weird part. I mean, I kinda expected to find some way of proving scientifically that everything in there was bullshit, but it couldn't. It all makes sense, and it doesn't break any of the basic laws of science._

And if you believe the book, it could explain a lot of stuff about this house. The floating trays, the self-lighting candles, the self-opening doors...if Mr. Taylor himself is a Master mage, or some previous owner enchanted the stuff, it all makes sense.

But still. I mean, magic? _Yeah, okay, this place _looks _like it's straight out of a fairy tale, but I'm still having trouble believing the owner of the house is some kind of a wizard._

Blinking, she realized her steps had taken her to the entrance to the attic. Frowning, she started to turn around; then, shrugging, she opened the door, walking within and closing the door afterwards.

Moonlight shone in invitingly through the other door, still propped open. Suddenly curious to know where the door led, she began making her way through the junk, shoving most of it aside without so much as a thought. She paused upon finding a book bound in soft blue leather, though. Beyond the color, the cover was totally nondescript, with no clue of what lay inside. Curious, she opened it.

"Jason's Journal," the front page read. Flipping a page, she read, "March 5th - Today Master Erron began my training in magick. He said I should keep a journal in which to write down my lessons and thoughts, should I ever need to look back on them again. So, I have done so. Master Erron said my magickal power was--"

Snapping the book shut, she shook herself. _Probably a fiction book,_ she told herself. _Someone was reading it up here before it got so cluttered, and it got left up here to be discarded with the rest of the junk. Just because Jason happens to be the secretive Mr. Taylor's first name too doesn't mean a thing._

Tucking the book under her arm, she continued through the junk. She paused as she came across a portrait, identical to the other one she had seen in the storage closet. Curious, she picked this one up, examining it. The canvas was shredded in four identical places, looking as though it had been quite savagely ripped apart with a set of claws, although she supposed it could have been done with a knife. Trying not to let herself think of any manner of savage beasts that could have done this to the portrait and might be hiding in the castle, she examined the man in the portrait.

He was young, not too much older than her seventeen years. He was quite handsome as well, with long black hair hanging in waves to his shoulders, and bright blue eyes that gave the impression of being quite kind, despite the arrogant, self-confident look upon the man's face. He was dressed in some kind of medieval clothing; she didn't know enough about clothes to identify it, but it looked very good on him. Then again, she supposed he must have known that.

The book slipped out from under her arm, dropping in among the junk. "Shit!" she said aloud, dropping the portrait as well. Rummaging through the junk, a spider crawled up on her arm, but she ignored it.

At last she emerged, triumphantly clutching the journal, and delicately removed the spider from her arm, setting it down atop a battered silver tray. Moving on through the junk, she clutched the journal, not wanting to drop it again.

Finally she managed to make it to the door. Peering through, she realized it led out to the roof, where a balcony of sorts lay about the edge. The door was set at a diagonal angle, implying a portion of the castle with a pointed roof.

Pulling herself through, she emerged atop the balcony, looking about curiously. The balcony was just wide enough for two people, with a white railing and a few carefully placed benches the only barrier in between herself and the empty air beyond.

Meg had never had a problem with heights, but looking out at the mountains she could see in the distance, she found herself clutching the railing dizzily. The portion of the castle the balcony sat upon was a _lot_ higher up than the highest ledge she had ever been upon.

Sinking into a nearby bench, she found herself facing the roof, which went up at an angle before flattening out. Observing it, she found that designs had been painted on the roof, a curious multi-colored pattern of shapes.

Rising, she closed the door to the attic; sure enough, the designs crossed over onto the back of the door, completing the picture. One couldn't see them from afar; out on this balcony was the only place they were visible.

__

I wonder who did this? Certainly not Mr. Taylor. He's so damned secretive he wouldn't get out here in broad daylight if his life depended on it.

Shaking her head, she sank back down onto the bench and sighed.

__

The question is, Meg--do you believe in this magic shit, or not? It could _be true, you know; after all, everything makes perfect sense. And if you don't believe in it, then nothing makes sense._

She sighed, then yawned. _Damn. I am getting tired, after all. Oh, well. I can always ask Mr. Taylor about this magic crap in the morning, and see if I'm crazy, or if he is, or if we're both merrily insane together._

Rising from the bench, she headed back to her room.

She woke the next morning as a cat jumped up on the bed, used her body as a bridge to walk up to her face, and sniffed delicately at her nose before pawing at it, wondering if it was a new sort of toy.

Muttering, she turned over, only to have the cat paw at her ear instead. Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes, blinking as she looked towards her small visitor.

The cat was small, barely out of kittenhood, and calico. Recalling that only female cats were ever calico, she didn't even bother checking its gender. 

It head-butted her chin, purring. Laughing, she petted it. "Hello, sweetie," she told it. "Do you live here, or are you a stray? And what's your name, I wonder?"

It just rubbed against her face, purring loudly enough to wake the dead. Smiling, she picked it up and put it on the bed, rising and stretching. The cat meowed curiously, hopping back out of the bed to follow her as she strolled to the closet, pulling out some plain blue jeans and a blue T-shirt. It continued to tag along as she walked into the bathroom, set her clothes atop the toilet, and started to run hot water into the bathtub.

"You are persistent, aren't you?" she asked as it rubbed against her legs, purring. It only looked up at her and meowed innocently, then continued rubbing on her legs. "Trust me, you don't want to stay in here. I'm going to be taking a shower, and I might accidentally get you wet."

The cat looked up at her in an affronted way, then turned and fled the bathroom. Smiling, she turned the knob on for the shower, stripped her nightgown, and stepped inside, closing the shower curtain behind her.

She stepped out several minutes later, dripping wet, and realized for the first time that the bathroom held no towels. "A towel?" she said experimentally to the empty air.

A fluffy white one appeared, dropping into her hand. Shaking her head, she toweled dry, and somehow wasn't surprised to see a smaller towel floating in afterwards and beginning to mop up the water on the floor of its own will.

Slipping into her clothes, she hung the towel on the nearby towel rack, heedless of her still-dripping hair. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the towel leapt off the towel rack and wrapped itself around her hair, ensuring it at least wouldn't drip on the floor anymore.

Shaking her head, she brushed her teeth, and put her hand when she was done, saying merely, "Hairbrush?" It appeared in her hand, and she took down the towel, hung it back up, and nonchalantly began to brush her still-damp hair.

__

Ya know, I actually think I'm starting to get used to this business of things floating around of their own will, she said, and giggled at the thought.

Clean, dressed, and dry, she strolled back into the room, taking her glasses from atop the dresser and placing them upon her nose. It was then that Mr. Taylor addressed her again, scaring her out of her wits as usual.

"Good morning, Ms. Dale," he started, sounding quite business-like. "I was thinking last night, and I was wondering if you happen to ride horses. I'm sure you've found the stable by now; my horse Moonshine could use someone to exercise him."

She sighed, sitting atop her bed. "First of all, Mr. Taylor, please don't call me Ms. Dale. My name's Meg, so use it, all right? And no, I don't ride horses. I'm terrified of them, thank you very much; they're too big. And why can't _you_ exercise him?"

He sighed. "I shall only consent to call you Meg if you agree to call me Jason," he stated stubbornly. "I am not that much older than you, after all, there is no need to call me Mr. Taylor all the time."

She shrugged. "Fine, fine. You call me Meg, I call you Jason, whatever. So why can't you exercise your own horse? Moonlight or whatever."

"Moonshine. And I..." He paused, and there was silence for a moment. A very short moment, though. "I had an accident some time ago, which resulted in my being unable to ride."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, I've ain't never ridden a horse in my life, so I'm afraid I can't help." She paused, then, knowing she sounded rude, asked, "How old _are_ you, anyway?"

"I...Twenty-one," he replied, and she wondered what he had started to say.

__

He's only four years older than I am, then. Funny, he doesn't sound_ like he's only twenty-one. He sounds older, like about forty or so._

Then again, if he had a hard life, the maturity that came with experience could be showing in his voice. It had happened before with people she knew.

"If that's all, then I--"

"Hang on, Mr. Taylor," she interrupted, remembering her plans of the previous night.

"Jason," he said grievously.

He sounded so much like an offended five-year-old that she almost laughed. "Jason, then," she said agreeably. "I was wondering--well, you're gonna laugh at me."

"I shall not laugh at you, Meg," he told her solemnly. "Not even if you tell me that blue fleas with purple spots are waltzing on top of your mattress."

__

She laughed at that. "No, nothin' like that," she said when she at last got her breath back. "But...well, I got some books from your library and I started reading 'em--hopefully you don't mind."

"Not at all. The library is there for my guests as well as myself."

"Well, that's good, anyways. But...there was this book I got from the non-fiction section. I thought it prob'ly wasn't 'sposed to be there, but I 'twas curious, so I started readin' it. It's called 'A Beginner's Guide to Magick.'"

"Yes, I know the book. Your question is...?"

"Well..." She took a deep breath. "Is the book real? I mean, is magic and all that really real? It'd explain an awful lot, like the floating trays and crap. But I mean, magic doesn't exist 'cept in books...does it?"

There was silence for a moment. Then, "What do you think?"

"I...I dunno." She sighed. "I'm afraid I'm going crazy or somethin', actually bein' ready to _believe_ in that crap...but it would explain an awful lot 'bout this place. I dunno. I guess, if you were to tell me it _was_ real, I'd be ready to believe you."

"Then...yes, Meg, magic is real, as real as you or I."

She swallowed. "And...and then, all that, the floatin' trays, and the candles, and everything, they're...magic?"

"Yes, they are. You can examine one of the floating items, if you wish; you will find no strings."

"I already did." Somehow, that relieved her; at least she knew that he wasn't using magic to spy on her. "So then, you're a...a Master of magic or whatever?"

"Indeed, I am a Master mage."

She took a deep breath. "I...guess that's all, then."

"Very well. If you should wish to speak to me again, just say my name aloud anywhere in the castle."

And again, although she had no way of knowing, she knew he had left.

Jason watched the girl in the mirror, frowning. She had discovered one of his books in magic in the library, and had read enough in it to have discovered how much the running of his household depended on his magic.

__

Very well. I wasn't sure I was ready for her to discover it yet, but if she stayed here for very long she was guaranteed to find out eventually.

"She has magical power of her own," a voice said out of the darkness, the voice of one of his invisible servants.

"Indeed. Do you think she will discover them, and wish to train herself?"

"Perhaps. I think she would have enough sense to come to you first and not attempt it herself, though." The invisible servant paused for a moment, then suggested tentatively, "Sir...do you think...do you think she could be the one to break the curse?"

He sighed. "It is possible. It is always possible. I doubt it will ever be broken, though."

A sigh came from the servant. "Very well, then, sir. I shall go, now."

With a whoosh of wind, it was gone.

A/N: Um, I am working on the sixth chapter, really I am. It's just coming along rrreeeaaaallllyyy sssslllooowwwllllyyy…yeah. Anyway, I did some rewriting and stuff on the first five chapters. And I think I'll be done with the sixth chapter soon. So please, nobody beat me with sharp objects. -whimper-


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: Yay! I finally updated! It's about friggin TIME, isn't it? Please don't hit me with any sharp objects or anything, I've just had writer's block on this story for a reaaaaally long time now. But the muse has descended again. Yay.

Ooo, I forgot! Thankies to all my lovely reviewers! You guys are way too nice. ^_^ I don't deserve all these compliments, especially since I know I suck at writing. (Yar, I have very low self-esteem.) Anyway, I'm done rambling now. Everybody review! Compliment, criticize, or flame--tis up to you (although flames will be laughed at).

Meg swore and sat up, looking around for the pencil she had dropped. Rising, she got down on her hands and knees and searched all around and under the bench, but the pencil was apparently gone. Sighing, she rose and shut her journal.

__

Guess I'm done writing for today, then. Stretching, she squinted in the sunlight, trying to make out the handle for the door back to the attic. The handle was excellently disguised, having been painted as a blue something-or-other that fit into the overall roof composition perfectly. At last she found it, and yanked open the door.

The journal she tucked under her arm, careful not to drop it the way she had _last _time she'd been in here. She was halfway through the attic when she paused and looked around, not even sure what the hell she was looking for.

There was a set of drawers standing right next to her, with several drawers laying strewn on the floor around it and one sticking out at an odd angle. She peered into the drawer, and saw nothing but a small, thin dagger within. Curious, she picked up the dagger and examined it.

The dagger was curiously dust-free for having been stuck up in an attic for so long; the hilt was made of ebony, with an engraving of twin serpents coiled around each other. Only one eye of each snake was showing; one had an embedded sapphire for an eye, and the other a ruby. The blade was well-polished, and looked almost supernaturally sharp.

The world had become somehow distant and surreal, and she wasn't really sure anymore what she was doing. Slowly, as if in a dream, she watched her hand move the dagger to her arm and slice into the skin, and stared at the carmine blood that welled up from the wound as though fascinated.

She awoke all at once, staring about the room with wide eyes. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was seeing a knife--and now she was sitting in her bed, with a bandage wrapped around her lower arm. What the _hell_ had happened?

"You're awake." It was Jason's voice, but he sounded odd in a way that she couldn't quite place.

"What the hell happened?" Shoving aside the sheets, she rose from her bed and stretched.

She heard him take a deep breath, and exhale. "It's sort of a long story."

"Yeah, well I don't have anything better to do."

"That was...the Dagger of Decousion."

Sounded like a weapon in some RPG. "Which is?"

"Decousion is a creature which is commonly known as a demon. It was sealed into that dagger some time ago, by a certain sorceress--probably the most decent thing she ever did in her life. However, there are conditions to it's imprisonment."

He paused. After a moment, she got tired of waiting for him to continue. "And these conditions would be..."

He sounded reluctant to continue, but he did. "Decousion has something of a talent for mind control, especially when it comes to those with untrained magic. The conditions of it's imprisonment are that if it somehow gets mage's blood on it's blade...it will be free."

Meg had a sinking suspicion she knew what was coming next. "So you're telling me that I..."  
"You set Decousion free. Indeed."

"Shit." Sighing, she collapsed on her bed.

"I'm afraid I must agree with that assessment of the situation."

She giggled in spite of herself; something about that formally-stated sentence just struck her as being funny. "But then that means I'm a mage."

"An untrained one. But yes."

"Well, then. Will you train me?"  
A pause, and then, "I cannot."

She sat up again, something striking a nerve. "Well, why the hell not? And why don't you ever come out of those stupid rooms of yours, huh? Why do you always have to be so damn secretive? I've been living with it for a week and I'm sick and tired of it!"

"You don't--Meg?"

She didn't even hear him. She had already left her rooms and was stomping out into the hallway, heading for the double doors that led to the master bedroom. Reaching the doors, she pounded on them with enough force that it sent echoes all through the hall. "Let me in!"

"No!"

"Yes!" She leaned on the door. No success.

"No!"  
"I said yes, dammit!" Digging in her jeans pocket for a lock pick, she retrieved one and set about picking the lock.

"The locks are magicked against thieves. And I said no."

The lock disintegrated, burning her hand. "Shit. Well then let me the hell _in!_"

"_No!_"

She leaned against the door, getting a sarcastic look on her face--she really hoped that Jason Taylor, wherever he was, could see it. "Trust me. I can outstubborn a mule, just ask any of my friends. Or enemies, for that matter. You're not going to win."

"I doubt that. I've been practicing at being stubborn for a lot longer than you have."

"Bullshit! You're only four years older than me!" Pounding on the door some more, she began muttering a highly inventive string of obscenities under her breath.

"This door is _not_ opening, no matter how many times you knock!"

Leaning on the door again, she folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well--"

Something thick and black materialized in front of her. It looked like it was made of liquid smoke, vaguely human-shaped but far too skinny to be any human, even the most anorexic one. It was completely nude, with a woman's breasts but a set of male genitalia that Meg hastily diverted her eyes from.

Decousian the demon reached out a long, slender finger, touching it ever so gently to the doors. They swung open without a hitch. The demon grinned mockingly at the one who had released it and bowed, then was gone.

Meg took a deep breath, telling her heart to stop hammering in her chest, and walked inside the master bedroom and looked around. Okay, ton of bookshelves, desk in the middle of the room, chest of drawers, a gigantic bed with velvet curtains--where the hell was Jason?

  
"Get the hell out here!" she demanded.

With a growl that was so beastial it was frightening, he stepped out from the concealing shadows. "Fine!"

He threw back the hood of his robe. She screamed.

The creature that was Jason Taylor was definitely the most inhuman thing she had ever seen, and probably the ugliest. His head and hands were entirely covered in coarse black fur; his hands ended in five wickedly sharp claws rather than fingernails. He had a very short muzzle, more of a suggestion of one than anything else; his nose was large, flat, and black, and he had fangs that showed even when his mouth was closed. His eyes were the strangest part. One was almost entirely a vertical slit, while the other was mostly horizontal. They were both mostly made of pupil, without any visible iris. And he was large, as well--his head practically scraped the ceiling, and the ceiling in this particular room wasn't exactly low.

She scrambled backward in a frantic need to get away, and tripped over the desk chair in her haste. It sent her crashing to the floor, where she managed to crawl backwards until she was crouched in a corner. She didn't have enough presence of mind to climb to her feet and run; all she could do was stare at this--this _monster._

"Now you know," he growled, low in his throat. "I'm...a monster."

  
Somehow, the uncanny echo of her own thoughts made her recover her senses. Grabbing at the corner of the desk, she pulled herself to her feet and began to run, straight down the hallway and downstairs at a speed that was most definitely dangerous to her health.

As she ran out the great double doors and headed for the gate to _leave_ this damned place, she thought she heard laughter behind her. It wasn't quite what one would classify as demonic, but somehow she knew it was Decousian.

A/N: Short chapter, but I've been inspired to write this story again, so you'll have more soon. ^_^ Will Meg ever come back? Will Decousian wreak havoc on Jason's castle? Will I ever get a life? All this and a free box of Spearmint besides, on the next episode of Cursed Rose!

Er, I had to say it. Sorry.


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: Okay. I know I promised last time that I would update soon and it's been forever, so…I'm sorry! -weeps- I honestly am! I've been busy with real life lately (did I say I have a life? Hahaha…) and I haven't really had that much time to write. BUT…I'm back, school is out at the end of the month, and I should have more time to write over the summer. -nod- So be happy!

Oh, and again! Thankies to all you lovely people who review my stories, you're too nice. -tosses cookies, and solemnly hands Giggles a box of Spearmint- Okeydokey, I'll shut up now and let you guys read the story, since I'm sure you don't care about listening to me ramble.

Meg was well on her way through the forest when terror-induced panic finally ebbed away and rational thought returned. She ran out of energy at approximately the same moment, and had to sit down on the ground, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

__

That was real smart, Meg, she informed herself acidly, clutching at a stitch in her side. _Just run right out of there, leave all your stuff in your room, who the hell knows whether you'll even be able to find the damn place again...just because you panic doesn't mean you can't use your brain, you know!_

Okay, then. Once she caught her breath, she could go back to the castle (hopefully she would be able to find it), get all her stuff, and then...and then...

And then what? Not like she had anywhere _else_ to go.

And even though Jason had turned out to be a monster, if he had wanted to attack her or hurt her in any way, he could have done it any number of times during the past week. It was always possible that he was really totally harmless.

Recalling what he had looked like, she shivered without meaning to. Damn it, even if he _was_ harmless, she couldn't stand living with something so...so...scary.

Thinking over the scene again, she remembered what he had said. "Now you know. I'm...a monster." He had sounded so sad...

And besides which, she had set that damned demon--Decousian or whatever its name was--free, so surely she ought to help put it back where it belonged. It only made sense for her to make up for her mistake.

__

And you're a mage, part of her brain whispered seductively, _and Jason is the only person--or whatever--that can teach you to use magic..._

By the time she finished arguing with herself, the sun had set and she had thoroughly caught her breath. She had decided at last to go back to the castle, although she somehow had a sneaking suspicion that the decision had already been made as soon as she stopped running and collapsed.

Rising, she brushed dirt from the seat of her jeans and took a deep breath. _Okay. So I go back to the castle, say I was an idiot and I'm sorry, try not to scream if I happen to see him again, and ask if he can teach me to use magic so I can help put Decousian back where it belongs. Simple, right?_

Trying to convince herself that things would be that easy, she started walking in the approximate direction she had run from.

After what seemed like about an hour of walking, she was fairly certain that either she was going in the wrong direction (and she didn't think she was), or else she wasn't going to be able to find the castle again. That definitely wasn't good, considering that it was now thoroughly dark, and she was out alone in the middle of woods with nothing but the clothes on her back, not even a flashlight. Hell, with this amount of light, she could walk right into the castle gate without even noticing it until she ran into it. Why couldn't it at least have been a full moon?

Dammit, she _knew_ the castle had been right here when she left. She could have sworn it was _right here,_ in the middle of this very spot, but it sure as hell wasn't there now.

Stopping in the approximate center of the area she had found the castle in before, she stamped her foot. "Jason! If you can hear me, you had better let me into your damn castle! I left all my stuff there, and you can't just keep it! _Let me in!_"

No answer, and she felt extremely stupid, yelling at nothing.

Sighing, she walked over to a tree and curled up at the base of it, using a root for a very uncomfortable pillow. Might as well try to get some sleep...

Reaching up to pull her hair out of her ponytail, she found a rose entangled by the thorns in a knot. Yanking it out, she stared at it. It looked like the same rose she had plucked from that weird rosebush, just before she had come to the castle. But she knew she hadn't taken it with her...

Taking that as a sign of hope, she cradled it against her chest as she normally would have a teddy bear, somehow managing to avoid getting pricked by the thorns. Breathing in the scent of it, she closed her eyes and tried not to think too hard about being stuck out here all by herself with nothing but a rose.

She couldn't help it. The utter hopelessness of her situation set in at last, and when she finally went to sleep, it was with tears streaking her cheeks.

She awoke at dawn, with red and puffy eyes and a rose thorn digging painfully into her arm. Wincing and digging it out, she sat up and stretched. Despite everything, she looked around somewhat hopefully anyway--but no. No huge iron gate, no large sprawling castle, nothing but the same empty forest.

The sun rose above the horizon, and a single beam of sunlight shot out across the woods, momentarily blinding her.

When she managed to shade her eyes and get them to stop watering, the castle was sitting right in front of her.

Whooping in joy, she almost dropped the rose, but stooped to pick it up before running off to the castle. Hell, she couldn't lose it now--maybe it was her good luck charm or something. Running up to the gate, she pushed on it lightly and actually skipped through, hardly even noticing when it slammed shut behind her.

Running into the entry hall, she glanced around and called, "Jason?"

The answer was instantaneous, and very cautious. "Yes?"

She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about that whole running away thing and shit--I mean, I thought about it for a while, and if you was gonna hurt me or some such you coulda done it any time during the week, right? And I mean, if I let Decousian free I oughta help to get it put back in its prison, and besides which I want to learn how to use magic and you're the only one I know that could teach me. Oh, and I also left all my stuff here."

"So..." he said, very slowly. "You're coming back? And staying?"

"Well. Yeah."

Silence for a moment, then, "You're not...scared of me?"

"Well, um," she said, then cleared her throat. "Yeah, I kinda am, but--well--I mean, you seem nice enough, you know? And you said you wouldn't hurt me or make me do anything against my will--right?"

Another moment of silence, and then a soft and fairly humorless chuckle. "You, Meg, are quite insane. Very few people would trust a monster's word."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well...maybe I am a little crazy. But oh well." There was a pause. "Um...so why are you--you know--like you are?"

"Why am I a beast, you mean."

"Well. Yeah. I mean, were you born that way, or did you used to be human? Is it a curse or something, like Beauty and the Beast?"

"Like--like what?"

"Like Beauty and the Beast. Y'know, the fairy tale? Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you've never heard of Beauty and the Beast. Disney even made a movie of it." She thought about it for a minute. "Although the Beast was way too fluffy in the movie. No way Belle would have actually been scared of him."

"No...I've never heard of Beauty and the Beast. It sounds...interesting."

She shrugged. "Maybe I'll tell it to you sometime. But you still haven't answered my question. Why are you a beast?"

He paused. "It's something of a long story," he said at last.

She shrugged. "Well, I've got plenty of time." She waited, but he didn't say anything. "Look," she said in exasperation, starting up the stairs, "I want an explanation and I want it now. I wanna know _why_ you're a monster, what the _hell_ a demon is, and I want to learn how to use magic. You can't just avoid answering questions forever."

Arriving at last at the double doors into the master bedroom, she knocked. When there was no answer, she tried to turn the knob, only to find it locked. "Come _on!_ I already know what you look like!"

The doors swung open, and she walked inside, a candle on the wall lighting as she went. "Jason?" she called, voice quivering a little bit despite herself.

"I still think you're insane," he said conversationally, waving a clawed hand to light the candle on the table in front of him.

"I told you, I probably am." She glanced around, getting a good look at the room for the first time. The walls really _were_ covered with bookshelves; the only part of the room that didn't have a bookshelf on every available bit of wall space was the area off to the right that contained the bed and chest of drawers. Oddly enough, none of the books seemed to have been used in quite some time; they were all covered in thick dust.

She stared across the room at Jason, who was sitting at the desk in the center of the room. He gazed back at her thoughtfully, the eery horizontal and vertical slits of his eyes just visible underneath the hood of the robe he wore.

"So," she said, just for something to break the silence. "What exactly _is_ a demon, anyway?"

He shrugged. "A demon is a creature of darkness. They come in various forms, but each and every one of them has a body designed to inspire fear. That's what they thrive on, fear. They can feed off of all sorts of negative emotions--hate, anger, sadness--but fear is where they get their true nourishment."

"So do they have any kind of a weakness?" She scratched absently at her arm, trying to ignore the fact that she was talking to a beast that was taller sitting down than she was standing up. "I mean, how can we defeat this thing? There has to be a way, right? I mean, it was in that dagger in the first place, so..."

"They're weak against positive emotions such as love and happiness, but that alone wouldn't be anywhere near enough to put Decousian back into its prison. Usually they can only be imprisoned by a group of mages."

"So can we not do it, then? I mean, since there's only the two of us."

"Two mages _could_ imprison Decousian once more, theoretically. _If_ they were both extremely powerful."

She sighed. "Can we do it or not?"

"I don't know. Whatever we do, the first step would appear to be teaching you to use your powers."  
"Okay. So can we do that?"

"Yes, but..." He hesitated. "Even if you _do_ turn out to be powerful enough to assist me in imprisoning Decousian, you would have to be fully trained before you were ready to even think about doing such a thing. And training you fully could take quite some time."

"And you want to get rid of Decousian before that?"

"I would like to, yes. But as I haven't kept in touch with my fellow mages for quite some time now, I don't really have much of a choice--I have to work with the only other mage available to me. The thing is, staying here with Decousian loose in the castle could be quite harrowing--not to mention hazardous." He shook his head. "As I mentioned, demons feed off negative emotions, especially fear--so Decousian will be doing everything it can to try to inspire that emotion in both of us. It will read your mind, see all your worst fears, and subject you to them. It will want to make you angry at it, as it can feed off that, as well--it will make you drop things, fall down stairs, and generally be a nuisance. It might even end up hurting you, to feed off your pain. If you want to back out now--if you don't want to go through with this--then I'll respect your decision."

Meg tried not to think too much about how insane she was. "Like I said--I'm the one that set Decousian free, so I should help put it back where it came from. Besides which, where else would I go? It's not like there's invisible castles willing to shelter me all over the country." She considered that for a moment. "Then again, how the hell do I know? Maybe there are." She shook her head in bemusement.

She thought Jason smiled, but she couldn't really see his face in the shadows of his hood--something she was grateful for. "If you're sure. If you change your mind, after having experienced life with a demon for a few days--I'll respect that, too."

"'Kay." She shifted position. "So when do these magic lessons start?"

"Whenever you are ready."

Meg shrugged. "Well, there's no time like the present, right?"

A/N: And that's that. -noddity- I apologize about the length of the chapters lately; I know the last two have been shorter than all the earlier ones. The next one will be much longer, I promise.

Will they ever imprison Decousian? Will magic lessons be interesting? Will Meg ever find out why Jason is a beast? Will I actually update less than a month in the future?! All that and…another free box of Spearmint, coming (hopefully) soon. So don't touch those remotes! -runs away-


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: I'm surprised you guys haven't shot me yet. Really, I am. Once again, I'm sorry for the lack of updates. -weeps- You're allowed to kick my lazy procrastinating butt, if it'll make you feel better. -nods, and tosses Spearmint to all her reviewers- Actually, I have a really good excuse this time--all my creative energy has been spent on my novel for the past several months (I finished the first draft! ^_^ Whoopee! -dances around like an idiot-), which I _would_ have online so y'all could read it, but it's original instead of fanfiction so of course nobody's interested. -sigh-

Okay, enough of me rambling. On with the story! -dramatic fanfare-

There was something chasing her, something large and dark and intent on hurting her. It was fast, too fast--no matter how hard she ran, trying to force herself to greater speed, it was constantly growing nearer. The forest around her was dark, supernaturally so; she couldn't have seen her hand in front of her face, and had no idea where she was running. Thorns slapped against her sides, breaking through the thin fabric of her clothes to pierce her skin, leaving a thousand bloody, stinging dots, but she didn't dare stop, for if she did, the beast behind her would catch up to her--

Her foot caught on a fallen bit of wood, and she went sprawling. She flung out her arms in a desperate attempt to stop her fall; one of them twisted awkwardly underneath her, and her chin hit the ground with a heavy thud. Sobbing from the force of her fear, she tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late; the creature was on top of her, pulling at her shirt with thick claws that pierced her skin and left deep bloody trails in their wake--

Meg straight straight up in bed, damp with sweat and heart hammering in her chest. She had managed to become tangled in the sheets, and she shoved them aside. It wasn't difficult to figure out the source of the nightmare; there was only one thing it possibly could have been--Decousian.

Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the first thing her hand landed on--her hairbrush--turned in bed, and threw it without looking long enough to aim. It hit the wall with a thud, three inches to the side of the demon standing in her open doorway. Decousian smiled mockingly, and disappeared into thin air.

__

Dammit, that son of a bitch! This was the third time the demon had woken her up, just tonight; she hadn't gotten much sleep at all so far, and had no idea how the hell she was going to stay awake long enough to pay attention to her lessons tomorrow.

Glancing at her watch, she sighed. It was only 3:30 A.M.; there was no way she could get up yet. She'd just have to hope Decousian didn't come back and disturb her rest again--not that that was likely, but she could always hope.

Climbing out of bed, she went to her door, closed it, and locked it--not that having it locked had done any good the past three times, but you never knew. Pulling the blankets back up around herself, she thought vindictively towards the demon, _And you can stay out, dammit!_

Burying her head under her pillow, she closed her eyes and was asleep in an instant.

When she awoke the next morning, drowsy from lack of true sleep and having to fight to keep her eyes open, the first thing she saw was her dress draped over the back of the chair. She hadn't seen the gown since it had disappeared, her first night here; she'd hoped that, wherever it was, someone was repairing the tear in the knee.

She leapt out of bed at once and crossed the room to the chair, picking up her dress and examining it. Sure enough, the hole in the knee was now completely mended, without a single sign of a patch or stitches anywhere--almost as though the fabric had been magically fused back together.

__

Then again, how do I know? she thought, musingly. _Maybe it was._

Badly wanting to wear it today and not really knowing why, she thought for a minute, then gave in and pulled the dress over her head. The golden cord had been left coiled on top of the dress; she looped it around her waist and tied it, then ran her brush through her hair and settled on the bed to eat breakfast.

By the time the meal was over, Jason still hadn't said anything to her--not even a good morning, much less anything about her magic lessons. She wasn't sure if he would hear her if she just spoke to thin air, either, so she left the room and set out to find him.

His bedroom was the first place she checked, only to find the door locked, and to recieve absolutely no answer when she knocked. She looked in the rest of the suites on the floor--no Jason. Most of the rest of the rooms that lay up the iron staircase were empty of him as well, but when she walked into the one on the left--the one that had been locked the first time she tried to open it--she found him sitting in a chair, evidently waiting for her.

The room was large and expansive, with bookshelves lining one wall--she'd never been in a house that had more bookshelves than this place did--and a variety of furniture, most of which was shoved out of the way along one wall and covered with dust. In the center of the room sat two chairs and a table, looking incredibly lonely in the middle of all that empty space. The table and one of the two chairs was spotless, without a speck of dust on them; the second chair looked as though it had been recently pulled out from the wall and hastily dusted off. It looked as though the duster hadn't done too good a job of dusting, either.

Jason sat in the dust-free chair, wearing a robe with a hood--one that disguised most of his monstrous form. She couldn't help but be glad; even though she was fairly sure he wasn't going to hurt her, it would still have been pretty easy to lose her nerve if she'd had to sit and stare at his face.

Of course, he was still undeniably much larger than she was, and the robe did nothing to hide the wickedly sharp claws on the end of furred hands.

Doing her best to ignore the claws, she stood just inside the doorway with her hands on her hips, ignoring the slight tingle she felt when she stepped over the threshold of the door. "I had to look all over the castle for you," she informed him tartly. "I 'spose it would've been way too much trouble for you to actually _tell_ me where the hell I needed to go for my lessons, right?"

"I apologize for the inconvenience," he said, sounding amused rather than sorry. "I'm afraid it is something of a tradition."

"What, that you have to annoy the shit out of your student before you start teaching 'em?" She snorted, closing the door and flopping down in the seat across from him. "Not much of a tradition, if you ask me."

He was obviously trying hard not to laugh. "The tradition is that for the first lesson, the student must seek and find the teacher without outside aid." He shrugged. "I have no idea where it originated or if it has any true purpose, but I decided not to break it lest I inadvertently find out any negative consequences."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever, Mr. Mystic Sorcerer Dude. I--"

"_Not_ a sorcerer," he interrupted sternly. "A mage."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what the hell's the difference?"

"There is _quite_ a difference, I assure you. Mages achieve their magic by tapping into the resoirvoir of power within themselves, which is why only those born with power are able to become mages. Sorcerers and sorceresses obtain their magic from the power resoirvoirs of other people. Since this usually leaves the victim soul-dead--completely drained dry of any feeling or emotion they might possibly have had--no one agrees to it by choice, so the sorcerers and sorceresses usually take the power by force. Quite unethical, really.

"Witches and wizards, on the other hand, obtain their magic from outside sources as well, but in their case it is from resoirvoirs that occur in nature. This, obviously, leaves out the moral problems associated with sorcery. Occasionally someone will achieve Mastery in magick, witchcraft, _and_ sorcerery, and they are simply called Adepts, transcending the labels for each particular brand of magic. And a magician is merely a term for a stage performer, who uses sleight-of-hand and has no true power."

She stared at him. "I probably have to remember all that, don't I?"

She thought he smiled. "Of course."

"Great." She slumped down in her seat. "Okay, so I'm sorry I called you a sorcerer. What I was _going_ to say, before I got the lecture of the month, was that I still want to know why the hell you're a beast." She glared at him. "You _still_ haven't explained that, y'know."

He remained silent for a moment, claws tapping idly on the arm of his chair. "You probably won't do anything else until I explain, will you?"

She grinned. "Nope."

He sighed. "Very well." There were a few moments more of silence, as though he was debating where to begin; just when she was about to say something, he spoke. "Before I was a beast, I was a prince. It was quite some time ago that I lived as a man--I haven't kept track of the passing years, so I can't honestly say _how_ long ago, but...it was well over a century, I know."

"Was it around the Middle Ages or somethin'?" she asked, leaning forward in interest.

"During the 14th century."

She whistled under her breath. "Damn. You _are_ an old fart."

He stared at her for a moment, then his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "I'm an--an old fart?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's the 21st century now, so that must have been--what, seven hundred years ago?"

The laughter died, replaced by silence. "I did not know it had been that long," he said at last, quietly; then he shook himself. "As I said, I used to be a prince. I was, I admit, quite a spoiled brat."

Meg was pretty sure she recognized this story. "And let me guess, an ugly old woman came along, offered you a rose in return for shelter, and when you turned her down 'cause she was butt-ugly she made you butt-ugly instead?"

He looked at her oddly. "No."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Well, that's the way it happened in Beauty and the Beast, so..."

He shook his head; she couldn't really see his expression, but she got the feeling he was somewhat amused and taken aback at the same time. "It was my twenty-first birthday when I was turned into a beast," he said, continuing with the story as though he hadn't been interrupted. "There was a sorceress who had come to visit my court--the same woman who imprisoned Decousian, as a matter of fact. As I said, it was likely the only decent thing she ever did in her life."

"She's the one that turned you into a beast?"

"Yes."

Meg tilted her head to one side. "Why? I mean, you obviously managed to piss her off, but how?"

"She and I had--" He paused for a moment, as though searching for words. "We had been involved," he finished at last, rather lamely.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You were screwing. That's just great, hurry up and tell the story."

"Yes, well," he said, sounding flustered; she wondered wickedly if he was blushing underneath the hood. "She became jealous when I got involved with another woman."

Meg, wondering idly how long he was going to continue to use "being involved" as synonymous with "sleeping together," nodded. "So she turned you into a beast, right?"

He eyed her. "Do you always insist on guessing everything that's going to happen when you hear a story?"

"But of course," she said, grinning. "That's half the fun of it, y'know."

He shook his head. "As I was saying...she became jealous, and began plotting her revenge. She led me out into the castle gardens, and pointed out a particularly beautiful rosebush--little did I know, it was the one she had magicked with the spell to transform me. I had always loved roses, and they were the most splendid roses I had ever seen. So I picked a red rose--and as soon as the flower was in my hand, I transformed."

He sank into silence, staring idly at the table. Meg watched him for a moment before speaking. "So how do you break the spell?"

He looked back up at her. "Assuming a bit much, aren't you? How do you even know there _is_ a way to break it?"

She shrugged. "Well, there always is in fairy tales."

"Yes, but this is life, not a fairy tale." He stared back at the table, claws tapping idly on the arm of his chair. "Part of the curse was immortality--that I would not only have to live as a beast, but do so for far longer than a human would ever have lived. The spell will run out after a thousand years have passed since its casting--then, I will die."

"Three hundred years left," murmured Meg, under her breath.

Jason ignored her and continued. "However, if I should manage to break the spell, I would return as a twenty-one-year-old man and live out a normal lifetime, then die. And it _is_ possible to break the spell."

"You have to find true love, right?"

He gave her a sardonic look. "Let me guess--that's the way it is in Beauty and the Beast."

She shrugged. "Yeah."

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. "For all I know, you're right. That--_woman_ wouldn't tell me _how_ to break it, only that it was possible. I begged--I actually got down on my knees and _begged_ the bitch to tell me how to break the spell." A low growl lay under the words; she shifted position nervously. "All she gave me was a riddle."

"Okay, what was the riddle?"

He exhaled in a heavy sigh, and relaxed the clenched grip his hand had taken upon the edge of his chair; the claws left five heavy furrows, which he ignored.

__

"Fire burns water, in feminine form,  
The girl with the rose, who isn't the norm.  
Find the answer, for your own sake,  
Even then, the curse may not break."

The poem he recited in a singsong, mocking voice; she couldn't see his face, but she had a feeling he was scowling. "I have been trying to figure out what it means for years--centuries. I've looked at every single possible nuance and I still haven't a clue, except that I need to look for a girl with a rose who isn't normal."

"Yeah, and there's probably a shitload of weird girls with bouquets of roses wandering around, right?"

"Oh, certainly. Anyone who's slightly odd and gets roses from a sweetheart could be the one the riddle refers to, for all I know."

"Hmm." She slumped further down in the chair, at last laying in it sideways with her head on one arm and her legs slung over the other. "How'd it go again?"

Obediently, he recited the poem again. She considered it, musing aloud. "Fire burns water...hmm. Well, I have no idea how the hell water can even get burned in the first place, so go figure. In feminine form--is that the fire or the water that's supposed to be in feminine form? Shit, why I am asking you, you don't know."

"If I did, I promise you, I would be human right now," Jason said dryly.

"Well, duh." She thought some more, stifling a yawn. "The girl with the rose...that bush the rose that changed you was from isn't still around, is it?"

"It's in the forest outside the castle. It couldn't grow without magic after what the sorceress had done to it, so I tied it into the spells protecting the castle, the ones that make it invisible to most." He was watching her intently, as though trying to guess her thoughts. "Unfortunately, that means no one without a flower from that particular rosebush can enter."

Well, that certainly explained a few things she'd been wondering about. "Maybe it has to be a girl with a rose from that rosebush. After all--_the girl with the rose, who isn't the norm_--maybe it's the rose and not the girl that has to not be the norm."

"Trust me, I've thought of that. So what exactly is this hypothetical girl with a rose supposed to _do?_"

"Shit, like I know." She considered for a moment. "Well, the rest of the poem is pretty obvious, right? _Find the answer, for your own sake, Even then, the curse may not break_--you have to answer the riddle to know how to break the curse, and even then it might not work." She shrugged. "So the rest of the answer has to be in the first line."

"_Fire burns water, in feminine form,_" he answered. "Trust me, I've thought about it for centuries and I still haven't figured out what _that_ is supposed to mean. I seriously doubt you'll be able to make any breakthroughs just in the space of one day."

"Yeah, but I still have to try," she said with a grin. "Unfortunately...I have no clue what the hell it means." She sighed, admitting defeat. "But if you see any burning water, you should probably run _towards_ it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jason said dryly. "Now, weren't we supposed to be having a magic lesson, before we got off-topic?"

By the end of the day, she was completely and totally worn out. She'd been exhausted anyway from her lack of sleep, and Jason had worked her relentlessly, beginning by showing her how to tap into her magic and build a shield around herself. He'd explained it as looking inside yourself--he said it helped to close your eyes, at least until you got the hang of it--and searching until you found the spot that glowed to your mind's eye. That was your power resoirvoir, and you had to imagine a mental hand dipping into it and drawing up a line of the glow; then to make a shield, you had to imagine that same hand pressing it, solidifying it into a solid wall around you.

It had taken her quite a few tries just to get the hang of tapping into the magic; she'd been so surprised the first time she'd succeeded that she'd promptly dropped the "line" and had to start all over again. Once she finally managed to put up a shield--she amused herself by envisioning it as a force field, like on Star Trek--Jason had launched a gentle attack at it with _his_ magic, and it had come crashing down.

The spell he had tossed at it made her yelp; it felt like a bee had just stung her. With an amazing lack of sympathy, he'd merely told her to put her shield back up, and make it stronger this time.

It took her half the day just to get a shield up that could withstand the little bee sting attacks. When she finally did, he increased the strength of the attacks, and down her shield went once again. She lost her temper quite a few times over the course of the day.

"Why the hell do I just have to keep doing this shit?" she had yelled at one point, clenching the arms of the chair and glaring at Jason. "I'm obviously hopeless at this, so why can't I at least try something different? I am _tired_ of putting up shields, dammit!"

"You are _not_ hopeless," he had told her, perfectly calm in contrast to her flare of temper. "You are going to get the hang of this, and eventually you're going to make a shield that can not only keep you from being harmed when I throw everything I've got at you, but that can also either reflect it back at me, or absorb the power back into your resoirvoir. Normally I would be glad to take a break and do something else for a while, but I want you to be able to make a strong shield before we do anything else--because if you can, you'll be able to protect yourself from harm from Decousian, which is something only your pendant can do at the moment."

She looked down at the pendant Branwyn had given her--she hadn't taken it off since she'd gotten it, and had managed to totally forget about it. "What, you mean this piece of shit's actually magic?"

He frowned at her. "It is _not_ a piece of shit. And yes, it is magic. Done by a witch, if I'm not mistaken, and perfectly capable of protecting you from anyone meaning you harm--which means Decousian can, as long as that pendant rests around your neck, do nothing but frighten you. However, with your own shields to add to it, you need not worry that Decousian might prove to be more powerful than the one that enspelled the necklace and break the protection."

She glared at him for a moment. "You're not going to let me do anything else magic until I make a good shield, are you?"

He smiled. "Certainly not."

She had almost stamped her foot in frustration, but had realized how childish that would look and decided against it. Instead, she'd gone back to shielding--and back to having her shields torn down as soon as she put them up.

He'd finally let her quit just after noon, with the excuse that they both needed lunch. She'd agreed rather grumpily, but had then been surprised when he had--rather shyly, she thought--asked if she would join him in the dining hall for lunch.

"It's just that--I've been very lonely," he'd explained sheepishly, "and I'd prefer not to have meals by myself if I have a choice. Of course, if you don't want to, I'd more than understand," he added hastily.

She stared at him for a moment, then had shrugged and accepted his invitation. After all, why not? She didn't have any reason to refuse--and she wasn't about to admit it, but she'd been rather lonely spending all her time by herself in her room, too.

And so she had gone up to her room to change, not wanting to eat in her dress and risk spilling food on it. Not that those invisible servants or whatever they were couldn't get any stains she made out--they probably could. Still, it was the principle of the thing.

Starting to walk out the doorway, she paused and turned, not knowing what she was looking for. As if on cue, Decousian appeared in the center of her room; she swore, then remembered Jason's words and slapped up the best shield she could. The demon eyed her warily, then turned to her dresser, picking up her discarded dress.

"No!" she yelped, leaping forward and grasping the hem in an attempt to pull it from the demon's arms. Dammit, she was _not_ going to let this stupid asshole of a demon rip her dress when she'd just gotten it fixed--

It let go of the fabric suddenly; since she'd been yanking on it at the time, she stumbled and almost fell over backward with the force of her pull. Turning back to her dresser, it picked up the slender crystalline vase she'd found in which to put her good luck rose, and eyed the flower within with a grimace of distaste.

"That's my good luck charm," she informed the demon. "Don't you dare mess with it, you son of a bitch."

The demon turned its gaze onto hers, and cocked its head idly to one side--then threw the vase at her. She shrieked and threw her hands up to protect her face, but instead of the vase actually hitting her, it came to a screeching halt about half a foot away from her nose. It hung suspended in midair for a few moments, then fell to the ground, where it smashed.

Obviously, Jason was right; these shield things were going to come in handy. The demon snarled at her, and disappeared.

Shaken, she stood there and looked at the broken shards of glass for a moment before shaking herself. "Could--could you take care of that?" she said to the empty air, pointing at the broken vase.

Sure enough, the pieces began zipping back together; within a minute, the vase was fixed, back on the dresser with the rose back in place. Grinning, she skipped out of the door, trying to find her way back to the dining hall.

She almost got lost twice when she made wrong turns, but eventually she found it, and entered to find Jason waiting for her, sitting not at the head of the table but off to one side. Feeling rather awkward--which was ridiculous, considering that she'd just spent the entire morning in a magic lesson with the guy--she crossed the room and took a seat across the table from him.

"Hi," she said by way of greeting, glancing at the table, which was empty except for a folded sheet of paper laying in front of their two places. "So, when do we eat?"

A/N: I know that wasn't a good chapter ending, but I suddenly ran out of ideas. Oh well. ^_^ Everybody, let's mock my crappy attempt at poetry! -points at the riddle- Hey, it rhymes, and coming from me that's pretty good. ^_^ I _suck_ at poetry (if you hadn't noticed).

So! Will Meg ever get good at magic? Will they ever reimprison Decousian? Will they ever figure out the riddle? Will I actually update before the lynch mob appears at my door?! All this and...I'm getting tired of Spearmint. All this and a free bar of Hershey's chocolate, on tomorrow's (or next year's) episode of Cursed Rose. Bwahahaha! -runs off-


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